


Early Oneshots

by Cordria



Category: Danny Phantom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 15:28:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordria/pseuds/Cordria
Summary: A collection of my early oneshots and short stories posted to Fanfiction. In this collection: Conversations of a Ghost Gabber, Dreams of Light, Metaphors, Letters, MePhantom, Conquistadores, Please (3-parts), Spectral Dance, Peter Pan, Fentonless (2-parts), The Lost One, and The Ghosts of Christmas Eve.





	1. Conversations of a Ghost Gabber

Maddie Fenton was tinkering with some new ghost device when Danny Fenton, halfa extraordinaire, tramped down the steps. "Mom?" he asked, stepping off the bottom step and looking around for the familiar blue jumpsuit.

"What?" she replied destractedly. Her voice rode over a muffled, metallic voice that was coming from under a pile of ghost technology. It had sounded something like, "_Fear me."_

Danny wrinkled his forehead, wandering over to the crowded table and pushing some of the bits and pieces of ghost hunting equipment out of the way. "The pizza's here."

He could hear the voice better now. It was still stifled, but now he could make out what it said. "_The pizza's here. I am a ghost. Fear me_." His mother, who was busy putting the finishing touches on her piece of technology, didn't reply.

Picking up one of the inventions lying on the table, Danny turned it over so the speakers faced up, a small grin drifting onto his face. It was the Ghost Gabber: a device that supposedly turned the incomprehensible mutterings of ghosts into words people could understand. In reality, it did nothing of the sort. At least, not for half-ghosts. "Hello," he said, listening for the expected response.

"_Hello. I am a ghost. Fear me_," the machine said in its monotone, rather bored voice.

His eyebrows went up, a vague smile playing across his face. "Boo!" he quipped.

"_Boo. I am a ghost. Fear me_." The machine repeated back to him.

"I am… I am… I am…"

The machine faithfully copied him, editing out Danny's hesitations with its blank voice. "_I am I am I am I am a ghost. Fear me_."

Danny couldn't help the huge grin that was splitting his face by this point. There was totally no point to doing this, but for some reason it was hilarious.

"Ah! I am unmasked for who I truly am!" Danny mock-screamed, dropping to his knees in dramatic torture and raising his arms over his head in defeat. Then, eyes glowing with quiet laughter, he stared at the Ghost Gabber, waiting.

"_Ah. I am unmasked for who I truly am. I am a ghost. Fear me_." No expression what-so-ever. Danny convulsed with silent laughter.

"After all of these years, to be revealed in such a manner! It's… It's… not fair!" he proclaimed, barely keeping his voice steady with the giggles that were rolling about in his stomach.

The machine did not disappoint. "_After all of these years, to be revealed in such a manner. It's it's not fair. I am a ghost. Fear me_."

His stomach was seriously hurting by this point. "Somebody, _help me!_" The last two words came out strangled as he collapsed onto the floor, rolling in scarcely contained laughter.

"_Somebody help me. I am a ghost. Fear me_." Tears were rolling down Danny's cheeks and he couldn't get a breath in to say anything else. It took a few minutes, but finally he got enough control over himself that he was able to roll to his feet and swipe the tears off his cheeks.

He walked over to where his mother was busy with her invention. "Mom?" he asked, trying to make sure she had heard him about the pizza, grinning broadly as phantom chuckles still shook his body every few seconds.

The Ghost Gabber, still on and forgotten in his hand, dutifully completed its job. "_Mom? I am a ghost. Fear me_."

Danny burst out laughing and headed back upstairs, dropping the Ghost Gabber back on the table on his way. Maddie looked up from her newest weapon, smiled, and shook her head. "Teenagers," she wondered softly, then set down her tools and headed upstairs for some pizza.


	2. Dreams of Light

"Ghosts are creatures of pure energy, molded into shape and given life by the pure emotions of their previous life. Most ghosts are, oddly, created by one of the strongest feelings known to the human race: pleasure. Ghosts become attached to some sort of object upon their creation (be it a living creature, a physical object, or an ideal of some kind) and their entire existence begins to revolve around it. For some reason, the object of their attachment gives ghosts a sort of ectoplasmic "high," and most ghosts quickly become extremely obsessed. After even a few encounters with the object of their mania, they become hooked, and they will do anything to attain this "high," including attacking and killing humans. Many ghosts, it is thought, even forget why that particular object was so important to them in the first place. And so, to ghosts, certain objects become almost like a drug - inescapable, desirable, pleasurable, and more addictive than any drug known to the man."

_Excerpt from the journal of Maddie Fenton, Parascientist_

* * *

_Present Day_

The Box Ghost hovered in the air over the railroad station, going over, in his mind, what he had already searched through. He had, of course, looked through every single box in Amity Park – most of them more than once. The railroad station he had a particular interest in, although he could not quite remember why. But that was why he found himself, once again, over the rail yards.

He swooped down through the night sky, scanning the area for a box. Seeing one, discarded by the side of a track, he chuckled with excitement. He picked up the box reverently, staring at it closely.

The box seemed to glow in his fingers, sending shivers up his arms. _This is it!_ he thought excitedly, his eagerness making his ghostly aura shine brighter than it usually did. He twisted the box in his fingers, listening to the rustling on the inside. _This is the one. This has got to be the box I've been searching for!_

He studied it, not daring yet to open the box. He tried to come up with a mental picture of what the box he was searching for looked like, but he failed. He had seen so many boxes over the years that they kind of blended together. He had never seen what was inside of this box before. This box could truly be the one.

The sides were bent and dirty from wear; the corners were dinged and crushed from the abuse a box takes every day. The crisp edges were long since vanished, leaving soft turns in their place. Water had chewed through one section of the box, leaving the cardboard mushy and moldy.

None of which the Box Ghost saw or cared about. In his mind, he saw a beautiful box, shining silvery in the moonlight, lovingly kept and cared for, edges crisp and neat, corners still sharp. Inside was object of his search, a glowing ring of bliss that would let him leave this plane of existence and move to the next. The Box Ghost held the box close to his heart for a second; enjoying the feeling of completeness that came when he had found the box he thought might be right. He didn't move for a full minute, knowing full well the power and pain of loss when it turns out this box was not to be his.

Finally, he could wait no longer. The Box Ghost opened his eyes and carefully opened the box, turning it over so that the messy remains of a book plopped onto the ground. In a flash, the box he was holding was not a silvery glimpse of perfection and happiness, but a dirty, moldy box that smelled like it had been rotting for some months. A sob slipped out from between the Box Ghost's lips. He flung the box to the ground and flew off into the sky.

Another box down. An eternity of boxes to go.

* * *

June 18, 1934

Dearest Sophie,

It is with deepest regrets that I am writing this letter to you. I will be, as you had feared, late in returning to you. The railroad is far from completion, and so my paycheck is far from in my hands. We are just now passing through a small village called Amity Park. It is rather quaint, you would enjoy it. The locals say that the place is haunted. I, myself, have not seen a ghost, and do not fear them.

On a better note, I found the most beautiful stone for your wedding ring. I had it set into a gold band so I can marry you properly when I return. I keep it in a special silver box close to my heart, even when I am working on the rail ties. That way, you are always with me. I will bring you this ring, dear one, not even my death would be able to stop me.

I love you more than words can say, my beloved, and I cannot wait to be reunited with you. Two more months, I am told, but that is two months more than I can stand. I received the package you sent, the overalls were beautiful and they fit wonderfully. The other workers are very jealous. Please let this letter find you happy and safe.

Your fiancé,

Gregory

_A copy of last known letter written by Gregory Smith, a worker on the rail lines._

* * *

_Present Day_

Stung and hurt by the loss of yet another chance at happiness, the Box Ghost wound up at the school. Casper High was empty and quiet at night, a perfect place to hide from the torture that he figured was his existence.

He especially liked the science labs. Science labs were typically clean and relatively empty of boxes, unlike the art rooms where stacks upon stacks of boxes filled with art supplies lined the walls. The Box Ghost did not go into the art rooms anymore. That was a disaster even he wanted to prevent.

He was in luck this evening. The science teacher had put away all of her supplies, leaving the room spotless and box free. The Box Ghost sighed, relaxing against a wall and half-closing his eyes. Without boxes around to bother him, the Box Ghost was almost happy and relaxed. He closed his eyes the rest of the way.

A vision floated up into his mind. It was a box, as always. Silvery and small, carefully crafted and buffed every day to keep the fingerprints off, the box seemed to hang in the blackness of his mind. It would be about the perfect size to fit into the pocket of his overalls that was over his heart. The Box Ghost smiled to himself.

In his mind, the box twirled gracefully, tipping end over end like a ballerina, until it came to rest. The ghost could feel his body tingle with excitement as the box in his mind started to open. Inside, there was a blazing light and the Box Ghost was filled with unimaginable happiness. He was complete. He was free of this existence of searching though boxes! A lightness began to spread through him…

But then the box snapped shut, leaving the Box Ghost alone in the science lab, crushed by a fate that nobody truly deserved. His eyes flickered open in disappointment as he contemplated what to do next. Maybe he would go tease that Phantom kid again. He kind of liked getting put into that thermos. It gave him time to think and be away from all the boxes. Of course, the halfa could never know he was being set up.

He stood up, fighting in his mind over what to do, when _it_ caught his eye. Sitting in a puddle of moonlight, on the teacher's desk, was a square-ish shape.

"A box," he mumbled, staring at it. Even he could see that it would not be holding what he was searching for – after all, it was really more of a file organizer than a box. But, it was full of papers. Perhaps, at the bottom…

"No," he whispered. He turned his back on the box, but it played through the back of his mind constantly. "It's not _my_ box!" he moaned, clenching his fists tightly and starting to fly away. "It's not… it's not…"

But then he stopped and turned around. What if it was in there somewhere, and he didn't look, and he would never know it was there? It wouldn't really take _that_ long to look. Better safe than sorry. With a groan, the Box Ghost flew over the file organizer and was, for the million and seventh time since he died, utterly disappointed.

* * *

June 21, 1934

Sophie Delavre –

It is with sorrow that I write to tell that Gregory Smith has died. Witnesses say he was looking for a lost trinket, some sort of small, silver box, when a pile of railroad ties collapsed onto him. He died quickly and painlessly. His body will be buried on Friday here in Amity Park, all expenses paid by the rail company, and his final paycheck forwarded to you.

Our condolences to you and your family.

_A copy of the telegram sent by the rail company to one Sophie Delavre._

* * *

_Present Day_

He tore out of the school, feeling vaguely guilty over emptying the file organizer of all of those papers. The teacher would have to reorganize them tomorrow.

The Box Ghost was, against his better judgment, heading towards the halfa's house. He couldn't take it anymore. A few hours jammed into the Fenton Thermos would give him time to settle down and relax. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would even be able to talk the Phantom kid into not releasing him back into the ghost zone. He didn't want to put up Skulker or Walker or any of those other ghosts tonight.

Taking a small detour, the Box Ghost zipped silently though the grocery store on his way. He needed an excuse to wake the kid up and get him to suck him into the thermos. The Box Ghost was floating in front of a darkened display of egg cartons, contemplating how many eggs it would take to get sucked into a thermos, when he noticed the pallets sitting off in a corner.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, drifting towards them. They were loaded up with… _boxes_. Dozens, if not hundreds, of _boxes_. The Box Ghost's eyes went wide with surprise, then with happiness. _Surely_, his mind whispered softly, _surely it's in here._

Forgetting his plan involving the halfa, the Box Ghost grabbed for the nearest box and tore off the top. He dumped the box of cereal onto the floor and scrabbled through it for a moment, looking for the light of his dreams. Crushed by the fact it wasn't there, the Box Ghost looked up at the next box, feeling the power of desire rush through him. He grabbed, dumped, shook his head, and grabbed the next box.

"Maybe this one," he whispered, turning the box over, and dumping out the contents. Nothing. "Maybe this one." He grabbed indistinctly at boxes, creating a huge pile of groceries on the floor of the supermarket. "Maybe…" He was working feverishly, barely glancing at the falling apples and oranges before tearing into another box.

Though he never stopped working, a tear trickled out of his eye at the impossibility of it all. Whatever he was searching for, it was not here. He knew it would not be here. Whatever he had lost all those years ago would _not_ be in boxes that had just arrived in Amity Park a few hours ago!

But, no matter what his brain might be saying, his hands kept grabbing for the next box, his heart kept leaping at the thought that this box might be _the one_, and his voice kept on mumbling, "Maybe this one…"

* * *

July 4, 1934 – Amity Park Herald (page 3, bottom corner of the page)

A new ghost has appeared in Amity Park. A rounded fellow, tinged with a blue color, the ghost is usually seen haunting the rail yards, often wailing about finding a box that it seems to have lost. This ghost, although outwardly harmless, should be approached with caution. A few of the rail company's workers commented that it may be the ghost of Gregory Smith, a rail worker that died about two weeks ago in a freak accident. The rail company had no statement on the matter. Contacting the fiancé of the deceased worker, the Herald has learned that the small, silver box the worker's ghost is apparently searching for was recovered in the worker's barracks a few hours after the accident and has been given back to the family.

_Short article from the Amity Park Herald_

* * *

_Present Day_

The Box Ghost picked up the last box on the pallet and held it in his hands. His eyes closed, wondering, hoping, feeling the trembling of pure desire rush through him as he touched the sharp edges of the box, knowing the pure bliss of the light that might be inside. Carefully, he opened the box and peeked inside. Paper. Lots of paper. The Box Ghost screamed and quickly emptied the box, searching. The object of his desire was nowhere to be seen. In a fit of fury, the ghost ransacked the rest of the grocery store before flying back out into the night. He had eternity to search, not knowing that he would never be able to find what he was looking for.


	3. Metaphors

I slammed my board to a stop, hovering just above the Amity Park Public Library. I could finally see him. That annoying ghost was perched on top of the clock tower of City Hall, his legs dangling into the air, staring at some kind of paper in his hands. For several minutes I waited, watching as he read some of it, gazed up at the stars and seemed to talk to himself for a moment, then return to reading the paper.

As I slowly floated closer, he did this routine over and over. _What in the world is he up to?_ I wondered. I glanced at the clock on the tower; I had plenty of time before I needed to be home. _I need to check this out_.

Decision made, I drifted up and over his shoulder, trying to see what it was he was reading. It had to be some kind of battle plan. I wasn't close enough to see what it was when the ghost yelled, "No, no, no you idiot!"

I froze. _Who's he calling an idiot?_ I was about to speak when the ghost continued. "You got them mixed up again, idiot." He sighed and turned the paper over, restarting his routine of reading and then staring off into space. I could feel my heart slowing down to a more normal pace as I finally figured out that crazy ghost was talking to himself, not to me.

_Wait. I get it. He's memorizing something._ I wrinkled my forehead. _What would a ghost need to memorize?_ I leaned forwards, making my hoverboard drift a bit closer to where the ghost was sitting. I'll admit it, I was curious. After all, he might have been memorizing some secret ghost code or invasion instructions or something.

I was a lot closer to him than normal before I could focus on what he was reading. Normally the ghost would realize I was there long before I got close enough to actually touch him. Today he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that I could have reached out and ruffled his hair without him even knowing I was there. Yes, I fully realize that I could have taken him out right then and there, but I wanted to know what he was doing and curiosity has always been one of my vices.

I peeked over his shoulder. "Metaphors?" I asked aloud, surprised. Then I mentally slapped myself for speaking aloud. So much for the element of surprise.

The ghost whirled around, his eyes wide with astonishment. "V… V… Val?" he stuttered, tense. "Where… where did you come from?" Then he paused, tilting his head to the side, his forehead wrinkling. "And why aren't you blasting me?"

"I ask the questions, ghost!" I snapped, angry at myself for giving away my position. "And don't call me that! Why are you reading about metaphors?"

The ghost stared at me, almost like he didn't comprehend the question. I knew he did though – as much as I hate to admit it, this ghost was smart. It was a long moment before he spoke. "Um… learning is the best way to improve and get stronger?"

_Why did that sound like a question?_ "Right. How does learning about metaphors make you stronger?" Against my better judgment, I deactivated my hoverboard and dropped onto the clock tower next to him. The ghost scooted a few feet farther away, but he didn't run.

He wrinkled his forehead again. "Cause…" he paused, thinking. I watched his eyes light up and when he spoke it was with much more confidence. "It helps with my witty banter." The ghost smiled at me.

I rolled my eyes, not that he could see it through my mask. "Where did you get notes on metaphors anyway." It wasn't really a question, but I could see the gears churning behind those green eyes. While he was thinking, I reached over and snatched the paper out of his hand.

"Hey!" he yelped, grabbing for the paper.

"This is a girl's handwriting," I stated, turning the paper over and staring at the neat cursive letters. "Where did you get this, ghost?" I already knew. It was obvious that he had stolen it.

"I'm borrowing it." He stood up and held out his hand. "Give it back, Val."

_Right. Like a ghost borrows things_. "Don't call me Val. And why?"

The ghost sighed. "Why what?"

"Why did take you some girl's English notes?"

"Borrow," the ghost stated flatly. "I borrowed some girl's notes because, obviously, I wasn't in class to take them." A small grin flicked across his face. "That, and I can't read my own handwriting half the time."

Now that I had a closer look at the notes, I actually recognized them. They were the same notes that I was taking in Lancer's English class. Whomever he had stolen this paper from was probably in my class. _I wonder who it is._

The ghost interrupted my thoughts. "Give me back the notes. I promised I'd bring them back."

_Like you keep promises_.

"Please. I don't want to get into a fight over a piece of paper."

I glanced over at him. He seemed sincere, but I still didn't get it. "Why are you memorizing stuff about metaphors?" I held out the paper to him. As he was taking it out of my hand, I felt my eyes grow wide in disbelief and I almost kicked myself. _Why did I give that back to him? Why? He won't return it!_

He stared at the notes then he looked up at me with the same disbelief in his eyes. Apparently he couldn't believe that I had given them back either. After liking his lips, he answered my question. "I told you. I need to get smarter, and the best way to do that is to learn."

A ghost that wants to learn? _What kind of trick is he trying to pull on me?_ "But why metaphors? Nothing will improve that banter of yours. Especially not metaphors."

The ghost hesitated. "It's not like I get a lot of choice in the notes I get, Val."

"Don't call me Val!" I yelped.

"What do you want me to call you?" the ghost snapped back. "It's not like you've ever told me a name. How about 'Greatest Ghost Huntress in the Universe Before Whom Everyone Should Bow Down?"

It was my turn to hesitate. As much as I hated to admit it, the ghost was right; I never had told him what to call me. The ghost turned while I just stood there and stormed back to his spot, dropped down to a sitting position, and stared out over the town, the notes clenched in his hand.

_I am not apologizing to a ghost_, I hissed furiously at myself. _Especially not that ghost_. I stared at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to do. Despite my mind working on overdrive, I couldn't come up with any reasons why a ghost would be studying metaphors.

And, to top it all off, I was starting to feel slightly sorry for the ghost. If he was telling the truth, he was probably the only teenager in Amity Park that actually wanted to go to school… and can't. With me around all the time and all the new ghost weapons the Fentons have been sticking up around school, the ghost couldn't come within a hundred feet of a classroom without getting blown to bits.

_I'm not feeling sorry for a ghost!_ I snarled silently. I was standing there, trying to decide if I wanted to blast him to bits for making me feel this way or leave him alone for the night when the ghost spoke. "I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

_What?_

The ghost sighed. "I'm not very good at memorizing, and this stuff," he waved at the notes, "is really hard. I'm just frustrated."

_Ouch._ The last walls of my solid defense against the ghost crumbled. I wasn't going to let him know that – it was probably just a trick on his part. _Don't apologize, don't apologize, don't apologize…_ "Why metaphors?" I asked, my voice much quieter than usual.

The ghost chuckled a bit. "That's the fourth time you've asked that." He glanced up at me. "I told you. I need to learn." He smoothed out the paper – it had been crumpled during our argument. "I mean, I don't want to learn about metaphors, exactly, but it's not like I have a choice."

"I know what you mean. I have to learn that stuff for Lancer's class. We have a test tomorrow on it."

"Really?" he asked. I could have sworn I saw his eyes roll.

I walked over to him and sat down next to him, hanging my feet over the edge and staring out into the night sky. _I shouldn't do this,_ I moaned, then I leaned over and I snatched the notes out of the ghost's hands.

"Hey!" he snapped, reaching for them.

I held them away from him. "What's a metaphor?" I asked.

"What?" He was stopped, staring at me.

"What's a metaphor?"

"Um…" he hesitated, watching me closely. "A metaphor is a figure of speech…" he stopped, his eyes crossing slightly as he thought, "where two things that don't have much in common are compared." He focused back on me, slowly drawing his hand back. His unspoken question was lingering in his eyes.

"Yeah," I said. "Now, give me an example."

"Life is like a box of chocolates," he drawled, grinning.

"Nope. Try again."

"What?" He was surprised. "That doesn't work?"

I deactivated my mask so I could see him better. He was smiling slightly, confusion still dancing in his eyes. "No, ghost, that was a simile. You used 'like'."

"Oh yeah? You do better."

Simple. "Life is a box of chocolates. See? No 'like'."

The ghost muttered something. It sounded vaguely like "cheater."

"Try again, ghost."

He was silent for a minute, thinking. Then he shook his head. "I can't think of one."

_No wonder he's having so much trouble._ "How about this," I supplied, "The black of your jumpsuit is a metaphor for the evil in your heart." When he winced, I bit my lip. _Why did I say that? That was… cruel…_

"And your red outfit is a metaphor for the anger in yours?" he whispered.

I glanced down at my hunting equipment. "Perhaps…" I wondered. I didn't really want to think about it.

We sat in silence for a few moments, staring out at the sky. "You know," the ghost said after a minute. "Red in ghosts signifies deep-rooted obsessions. Really angry, powerful ghosts that will stop at nothing to get what they want."

"Are you comparing me to ghosts?" I hissed.

"No," he said swiftly, glancing at me. "I'm saying that red typically stands for anger. Fortunately for you, you're a human. Humans can change. That suit of yours is red now, but maybe it won't always be." He chuckled a little, staring down at himself and a sad note creeping into his voice. "But I am a ghost. Mine will always be black."

_Darn it! I'm feeling sorry for him again. Don't say it, don't say it… Shoot! I'm going to say it…_ "You're half white too. And the black doesn't mean evil everywhere in the world." He looked up at me, _something_ in his eyes. "Besides, you'd look stupid in blue."

The ghost laughed softly, shaking his head. "I knew you had a good heart in there somewhere."

I couldn't help it – I smiled too. "Valerie," I said suddenly.

"What?" He blinked at me.

"Valerie. You asked what you should call me. You can call me Valerie."

The ghost chuckle and held out his hand. "I'm Phantom – pleased to meet you, finally," he added under his breath. I shook his hand shivering as the cold of his skin seeped through my glove.

I glanced back down at the notes. _This may work out well after all. I might pass the test tomorrow._ "This is a one night thing," I stated, glancing back up at him and narrowing my eyes. "Tomorrow I vaporize you, just so you realize."

Phantom's eyes seemed to glitter and dance for a minute. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Valerie."

For the first time, I didn't yell at him for using my name. "Now. What is a hyperbole?"


	4. Letters

Danny sauntered down the steps, yawning. "It's way too early to be up. Somebody seriously needs to rethink the cosmic idea of 'morning.'"

He jumped down the last few steps, landing lightly on his toes. He glanced around the living room doing his normal morning perusal for things to watch out for. No new ghost technology sitting on the coffee table waiting to vaporize him, nothing zipping out of walls or the ceiling to try and blast him, and (most importantly) no parents sitting on the sofa wanting to talk to him about something. "So far, so good," he whispered.

Rubbing an eye, he wandered into the kitchen, still scanning drowsily for anything dangerous. Seeing nothing, he grabbed a bowl and the box of cereal. He sat down at the table, yawning again as he poured himself breakfast.

"Danny!" his father suddenly bellowed from inches behind his ear. Cereal scattered across the table and pattered to the floor as Danny dropped the cereal box and almost levitated out of his chair. Trembling slightly, heart pounding, Danny quickly reached forwards to grab his bowl before it smashed to the ground.

_How did I miss the big orange jumpsuit?_ he cursed in his head. "What?" he whispered aloud. He turned around to glare annoyed at his father. He had been happily living in a dazed, half-asleep mode, and would have been able to hold that sleepy feeling for another half-hour – easy. But now he was awake. Completely and totally. No hope of going back to sleep after breakfast.

His father was watching him curiously. "Are you okay?" he asked, a bit softer.

Danny's expression softened. "Yeah," he said, smiling a bit. "You just scared me, is all."

"Ah." Jack's expression brightened. "I wanted to tell you that Maddie and Jazz are going to be gone all day today looking at colleges in the area."

"I thought you were going to go too," he asked, wrinkling his eyebrows. He turned back to look at the mess of a kitchen table, wondering sarcastically who would be made to clean it up.

"If she's interested, we're all going to go see it later. Jazz doesn't want to go to a college around here though."

Danny smiled softly, carefully pouring himself a new bowl of cereal and ignoring the spilt mess for now. He could almost hear his Dad frowning, his expression glum. Of course he wanted Jazz to stay around here. "So, we're home alone on a Saturday?" he asked between mouthfuls of cereal.

"Yup! I'll be down in the lab most of the day."

"And?" Danny knew there was an "and." There was always an "and."

The silence behind him told all. Danny rolled his eyes, answering the question his father wasn't going to ask, but wanted to. "I'm not doing anything with Sam or Tucker today, so it'd be fun to help you… if you want. For awhile." He stressed the "for awhile" part, knowing very well that otherwise he'd be down there all day.

"Wonderful!" Jack boomed, slapping his hand on Danny's shoulder. Danny's arm jerked, the spoon knocking over his bowl of cereal. This time, cereal _and_ milk cascaded across the table and onto the floor. Danny pushed back away from the table in time to keep most of it from dripping onto him. "Um…" Jack continued, staring down at the mess. "You clean this up, get dressed, grab the mail, and meet me down in the lab, okay?"

Danny sighed as he watched his father dash back downstairs into the lab, and then glanced at the table. He reached forward and touched the table, concentrating just long enough to turn the table and his cereal bowl intangible. The spilt milk and cereal dropped through to the floor. After a second's consideration, Danny grabbed his bowl and the box of cereal again. He tipped the box over for his third bowl of the day and shook the box. Only a few bits came out. "Empty," Danny moaned. "Of course."

He drummed his fingers on the kitchen table, contemplating his options. One… he could brave the "Fenton inventions" and try to make toast or waffles or something. Two… he could brave the refrigerator and hope that there were leftovers that weren't either glowing or inedible. Or three… he could go hungry until later. "I'm not that hungry," he muttered as he dropped his bowl into the sink and crushed the cereal box.

Five minutes later, the kitchen was relatively clean again, and Danny headed upstairs to get dressed. He yanked on an old shirt that was already stained from the inevitable goop, grease, or ectoplasmic who-knows-what that comes from working in the lab. Quickly brushing his teeth and pushing his fingers through his hair, Danny headed back downstairs.

At the door, he paused just long enough to grab the mail that had been sitting on the small table by the door since last night when it had been delivered. "Bill… junk… junk…" he whispered, flicking through the mail. "Bill… junk… interesting," he paused, thumbing through the G3 preview magazine that had been sent to him for a second before continuing. "Junk…"

He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. The last piece of mail was a letter. In a plain white envelope. With a normal-looking stamp. Addressed to him.

No, not to _him_, him, but to the other him. Danny Phantom.

"What?" he whispered, staring at the letter in horror. "How… who…?" he trailed off.

"Danny?" his father called from the kitchen, stomping out into the living room. "What's taking so long?" He took in Danny's pale face and grabbed the mail. He scanned the letter, his face twisting in confusion.

"Uh…" Danny was staring back and forth between the letter and his dad, his mind racing. However had sent the letter obviously knew who he was. They probably said something in the letter. _Help_… he thought.

"Why _do_ we get the ghost kid's mail?" Jack dropped the rest of the mail on the ground and carried the letter back into the kitchen.

"Dad?" Danny whispered, forcing his feet to move. He followed his father into the kitchen and then down into the lab. At the bottom of the stairs, he saw that his father was sitting on the table. Jack reached down and pulled out a big box. After dropping the box onto the table, he picked up the letter. "What are you doing?" Danny drifted closer until he was looking over his father's shoulder.

Jack laughed. He opened the letter, dropping the envelope into the trash. "Look in the box," he said, scanning the letter.

Danny carefully yanked the lid off the box, flinching away from whatever might come flying out. Blinking at the lack of a reaction, Danny peered into the box. It was filled with letters. Glancing at his father, who wasn't looking at him, he reached into the box and picked up the first letter.

_Deer Mr. Fantom_, the letter read, _I don't no your address, so I send this to the ghost hunters so they can get it to you. I just want you two no how wonderful I thinke you are, saveing or town all the time. You're frend, Nick_. At the bottom of the messy handwriting, the kid had drawn a picture of Danny Phantom fighting off a ghost that looked suspiciously like Skulker.

Danny couldn't hold down the grin that spread across his face. He glanced down at the next letter, noticing that it was addressed to "Danny Phantom" as well. "This whole box is letters to Phantom?" he asked softly.

"Yup," Jack answered, setting the newest letter into the box. "Apparently people figure we can get him his mail since we're ghost experts."

"I suppose that makes sense…" Danny dropped his letter back into the box and put the lid back on. "But isn't it kind of illegal to open somebody else's mail?"

"Maddie thinks that since Phantom isn't technically "alive" that doesn't really apply. Besides," Jack grinned at him, "we already asked the post office." Jack grabbed the box and stuffed it back under the table. "That's more than three hundred letters we've gotten over the past few months. Most of them nice letters too."

Danny shook his head. _I know I don't get the mail very often, but how did they get three hundred letters without me noticing?_ "So…" Danny said after a moment, tapping his toes on the floor.

His father pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "So…" Jack copied, stretching his arms over his head, and then standing still. They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"What are we going to do?" Danny finally asked.

Jack grinned broadly, breaking the moment and grabbing Danny's hand. "I think I finally got the bug out of the Ghost Decoys. Come look!"

As he was pulled across the lab, Danny glanced back at the box sitting under the table, furrowing his forehead. _Three hundred letters_? he wondered again. Then he grinned. _I guess I've got something to do tonight._


	5. MePhantom

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It was 127 years ago when the first mental enhancement chips were produced. Hailed as the technological revolution of the century, these small chips were placed carefully inside the human brain. These meChips upgraded the mind, utilizing every section of space. They allowed the average person to do complex calculations, store terabits of information, and learn at seemingly impossible speeds. It was a wondrous achievement. Within a decade, over 90 of the population had meChips in their minds.

Created just a few years later, meWeb came into existence. meWeb was a world-wide, wireless internet system that allowed users to access the internet through their meChips. MeWeb was designed in various levels, from a high-level expensive service to a free service that included commercials. These commercials came in the form of intense cravings for whatever the adware was trying to sell. Most users in the early forms of meWeb used the free service.

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The creation of the Dream Mental Compliance Software was a milestone achievement in the history of meChips. Dream allowed people to program their minds to do certain tasks while the human consciousness drifted in a trance-like state. Menial labor, chores, or even exercise could now be done without the use of the human mind. The majority of the population used Dream on a daily basis within just a few years of its introduction.

In 2031, over twelve thousand workers reported to work at a factory in Char, Maine. Around 10:30, a fire broke out in the factory. The workers, deep within Dream, were unable to comprehend what was going on around them and unable to stop working until the preprogrammed time, could not evacuate the facility. The fewer than one hundred survivors of the incident described the horror of that day to the stricken public. The creators of Dream claim the workers died peacefully, unaware of what was happening to them. At the time, many in the public disagreed.

Dream was modified, allowing for outside programming in the event of an emergency. Keywords, such as "Fire" and "Quit" would snap workers out of Dream. However, allowing outside influences such as these also allowed for Dream to be hacked. The first virus, DreamWorm, wiped the programming of over 250,000 people in a suburb of Chicago and turned them temporarily into zombies before it was stopped.

MySlave, the next big evolution in viruses, created a voice-override sequence in the Dream software. Racing around the globe and infecting millions, the MySlave virus wiped the minds of its victims and turned them into slaves that would do whatever they were told to do. The virus was blocked, but more than 300,000 people were unable to be revived from the MySlave stupor and spent the rest of their lives as zombies. Despite MySlave and viruses like it, more than 98 of the world still used meChips and Dream weekly.

Then, in 2037, the zoopba bug appeared almost simultaneously in nearly three-quarters of the population. Permanently wiping the minds of nearly seven billion people, zoopba created a world of slaves and overlords. After only a few days on the rampage, the bug vanished – and was never heard from again. Although some allegations were brought up early after zoopba's release that the virus had been engineered to create slaves (called meZombies) for the wealthy of the world, nothing ever became of the allegations.

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When meZombies (more commonly referred to as MZs) are bred, class E meChips are installed in the brains of their offspring at the age of two months. Dream (version E.2.9) is downloaded and activated at the age of five months. Using the newest technology to train children, MZ children are ready to work alongside their adult counterparts by the age of four.

Class E meChips are available for a discounted rate of only GD$764.99 for 100 meChips and are guaranteed for fifteen years. Please contact our sales department for shipping and warranty information.

(Note: As found by the meChip convention of 2045, children of meZombies are not designated as being able to learn and think on their own. Without the use of meChips and Dream, MZ children would be vegetables all of their lives and would quickly die from starvation. MeChip, along with Dream, is working to preserve the future of our world.)

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In 2143, a rouge group of experimenters in the realm of ectoplasmic entities (more commonly known as ghosts) reportedly opened a portal to a "ghost zone." This, if true, opens hundreds of new possibilities for the future of our world.

During the opening of the portal, it was stated that several MZs were injured. Two MZs – a male and female of fourteen years – were near the portal when it activated. A third MZ, another fourteen-year-old male, was supposedly inside of the portal at the time of activation. It is unknown how the odd energies of the portal affected any of the MZs. They are currently being studied for any side effects.

It should be mentioned that these experimenters are working outside of government controls and that none of their findings should be taken as fact. None of the information has been verified by reliable sources. This meWebsite, by printing these supposed findings, in no way supports this rouge group nor is agreeing with their findings.

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Child: male.

Born: 14, January, 2128  
-3.8 kilograms, 52 centimeters

Current Status: Alive (excellent condition)  
-14 years old  
-72 kilograms, 1.8 meters  
-Rating: B7 (GD$563) ++(see note)

Parentage: meZombie 984726348, rated B2 (mother) and meZombie 1000042839, rated C4 (father-deceased).

Note: Supposedly involved in an accident involving large amounts of energy three days ago. Male is currently being studied for possible side effects.

_Continue to display record?  
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_Search information mezombie+name  
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Who am I?

_To be continued..._


	6. Conquistadores

A single man walked over the rise, two simple swords carried in a shoulder sheath. The morning sunlight sparkled off of his silver belt and the single broach pinned to his chest. Everything else about him was dark: his clothes were like a deep, moonless shadow, his boots had been dyed a murky, muddy chocolate and his cavern-dark hair hung down into his eyes. He surveyed the small army that had gathered on the field. Then he started to walk forwards, keeping his eyes focused on the ground. No one followed him over the rise.

Before him, the army stood still. One of the _capitánes_ of the army glared up at the single, lean man that was coming towards him. "¿_Quién es_?" he growled. His horse whickered and shook its head. The man yanked sharply on the reins to quiet it. "¡_Silencio_!"

A tall, dark man pushed his helmet back farther onto his head and studied the soloist. His face paled slightly. "_Dios mío_," he whispered, just loud enough for the men near him to hear. "_El Phantasma_." Behind him, the whispered name of the highly-rumored demon fighter rippled through the ranks of the conquistador's army.

Just as the tall man spoke, the dark gentleman came to a stop facing them on the field. He was quiet, the army was hushed. Suddenly, a freezing breeze blasted through the assembled men, their flags whipping out and snapping harshly. The army shivered as one, half-heartedly calming their nervous horses. The demonic wind hadn't been just cold; it had also carried with it the blood-chilling feeling of pure power. To further the army's fears, the odd stranger's hair and clothes had not rustled in the sharp wind.

The mysterious man had everybody's attention. He looked up from studying the ground. His ice-blue eyes gazed around at the small army. "I need you to leave, Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca. Leave and never return."

The _capitán_ standing in the front of the army shook his head. "Who commands?" he asked in broken English, speaking for the commander who was watching from the rear.

"The people of this fair city do not wish to be conquered by Spain today." The shadowy man stood easily, his arms crossed lazily across his chest.

"¿_Usted y qué ejército_?" the _capitán_ laughed, but fell silent when few of his men followed his lead. He turned around to check his army and found ranks of pale-faced men staring uneasily at the dark stranger blocking their way.

The man's now crystal-green eyes glittered inhumanly in the morning light. "_Soy el Phantasma_," he whispered, his voice carrying easily over the soft sounds of the army. The man unsheathed his thin side-swords. He held one in each hand, swinging them around slightly. They glittered silver-blue in the light. "I am the Phantom. I need no army."

Then he vanished. Within seconds, those green eyes were back, inches from the _capitán_'s nose. The man blinked and jerked backwards, reaching for his own sword. One sparkling blade flashed before his eyes, the other traveling a bit lower. As the former _capitán_'s head fell one way off his horse and his body went the other, the Phantom was left, balancing carefully on the nervous horse's back. He looked around at the army, many of whom were already beginning to panic and run, and smiled grimly. He had work to do.

He jumped into the air, somersaulting smoothly before landing on his toes in the midst of the Spanish cavalry. Just as his soft, worn boots hit the ground, he was moving. He threw himself forwards, phasing just long enough to pass through the horse's head, and slammed a blade into the unfortunate man's chest. Ripping the blade sideways mid-jump, the man levered himself into a spin that simultaneously half-tore the blade from the first man's chest and buried his second blade into the abdomen of the guy next to him.

The Phantom phased both blades for a heartbeat, freeing them from the bodies as they toppled off of their terror-filled mounts. Letting a few horse hooves and one errant sword blade pass through him, he settled his unearthly green eyes on his next target: a young man urging his horse into a gallop headed straight for him. He ran forwards a few steps, then dove underneath the unsettled horse, ignoring the flying hooves, and sprang straight upwards. He passed through the horse and its rider, let them race past him as he twisted around. His sword, which was a lot more solid than the Phantom himself, twirled around and smashed into the young man's face.

Ignoring the chopped-off cry, the Phantom pushed off of the alarmed horse and flipped into the air. Two quick slices while in mid-air left two young army men headless, but it killed his momentum. He dropped into the mud, crouched and ready to spring, panting heavily. Glancing around for a new target, he listened to the majority of the army yelling and running away. He grinned, watching the horses run from his vantage point low to the earth. But not everybody was running. Not yet. He turned his glowing glaze onto the three dozen or so men that had not taken flight. He needed to bring the battle to the next level.

The Phantom stood up slowly, his swords dangling down by his sides, studying the stragglers. The tall, dark man who had correctly identified him when he first came over the ridge was sitting slightly apart from the others, calming his horse and not bothering to draw his sword. The others had their swords in their hands, glancing at each other. A few were trembling so badly it was visible from his vantage point. The Phantom's seething gaze was something right out of a nightmare as he glared at the remaining men. With each heartbeat, his eyes would flare with a burst of energy and then slowly fade back into a more normal green. The Phantom let a malicious grin cross his face as he decided what to do.

He rang his two blades together, letting the odd clash echo over the abnormally quiet battlefield. Just like when snapping flint and steel together, sparks flew at the joining of his swords. The flickers of light seemed to ignite the two blades - inhumanely green, spectral energy flowing into existence and swirling crazily around the sharpened steal. The Phantom raised his two smoldering swords, excess energy dripping off of the points like burning blood to evaporate mid-fall, the emerald glow bringing a demonic quality to his shadowed face.

He strode smoothly forwards, his blades raised and ready to fight. One man, a short, fat fellow with dented armor, kicked his horse into a sudden gallop, screaming to the heavens as he brought his rusty sword down to try and skewer the Phantom. The Phantom merely brought his own blazing sword in line with the man and sent a blast of frozen power through the energized steel. A flare of spectral energy shot from the end of the sword straight for the man. It seared through the old, hand-me-down armor in a flash before continuing straight through the man's heart and out his back.

The Phantom let the panicked horse and its dead rider pass through him as he continued to pace forwards without breaking his rhythm. He let the jade fire trickle off of his swords and trail up his arms. The flames suddenly flared into life all over his body, dancing through his messy hair and outlining his lean form. The mud around him froze instantly, the dark ice spidering away from him. He couldn't help the small laugh as the cold, intoxicating power flooded through him. His eyes blazed like tiny suns as he took another step towards the remnants of the conquistador's army, muddy ice crackling under his boot.

With that display of power, the men broke and fled, whipping their horses into a frenzy as they raced to catch up with their fleeing companions. The Phantom let the flames die, his odd smile vanishing as the liquid-green fire calmed in his veins and the enthralling energy draining away. He sighed and turned around to survey the damage.

Six men lay dead on the field; the last was slumped limply on his horse. He sheathed his perfectly clean blades and closed his emerald eyes. He listened to the creak of the leather saddle as the tall, dark man brought his horse up to his side. "_El Phantasma_…" the man stated softly. "You get scarier every time I watch you fight."

"You are starting to believe your own rumors," the Phantom said softly. He finally opened his eyes, back to their normal blue, and glanced up at his friend. "Did you actually get paid this time?"

"No," the man admitted, but took a small pouch out of the pocket of his muddy coat. "I did manage to… _appropriate_… enough funds to last us for a while though."

The Phantom smiled slightly, but didn't move from his spot on top of his mud-ice platform. He watched the silent, still remains of the battlefield, quietly taking in the slowly spreading pools of blood. "I hate killing, Tucker," he whispered.

"I know, _amigo_," the man answered. "But you saved everybody in that town. Those Spaniards would have killed them."

"I know…" The Phantom suddenly turned and started to walk back up the ridge.

Tucker moved his dapple horse alongside the young man. After a minute of silence, he asked, "You going to get paid for saving _this_ town?"

The Phantom shook his head. "Probably not. The town looked like it could barely afford to feed itself." He topped the ridge and put the slaughter behind him, relaxing slightly. He strode up to a black horse that was standing in the shade of a small, lonesome tree. The horse looked up at the man, the odd marking on her face resembling some sort of fairy-tale ghost. "Morning Banshee," Phantom laughed as he rubbed her nose.

"Stupid horse," Tucker muttered, smiling as he tried to lighten the mood. "It'd figure that you'd find the one horse in the Americas that isn't afraid of you and you'd name it something stupid."

"What's wrong with Banshee?" Phantom asked, his blue eyes sparkling as he tightened her saddle. "Come on, you sticky-fingered thief, let's go find something to eat. I missed breakfast."


	7. Please 1 (Bubbles)

Danny!" Jack bellowed as Danny sat on the bottom step of the basement stairs. He had long since decided it was safer to sit on the stairs than wander into the medieval torture chamber his parents called their workplace. "Look at our latest invention!"

Maddie beamed, patting the four-foot-high, glowing bubble maternally. It was carefully placed in the lab about half way between the interdimensional portal and the Fenton Stockades. "It's perfect for catching ghosts."

"It's _intelligent_." Jack added.

"Intelligent?" Danny wondered.

"Yup!" Jack grinned, "It learns as the ghost tries to escape. It foils all of their attempts automatically."

Maddie nodded. "It's going to give us all sorts of information. This machine will literally _create_ new weapons and defensive tactics for us. It may come up with devices that no human would ever have thought up. Better ones, more efficient ones."

"Even better," Jack added, "this machine keys in to a ghost's biggest secret – we figure it'll usually be what their weakness is – and makes it tell us their secrets!"

Danny shivered. That wouldn't be fun to get caught in. Yet another invention to put on the "must avoid" list. "So…" he hesitated, "what if a ghost got in there that you wanted to get out?"

"Don't be silly, sweetie," Maddie answered. "Why would we want to get a ghost out?"

"Does it hurt the ghost?" Danny watched his father carefully plugging in a few more cables.

"Jack, dear, don't forget to unplug the generator before you wire in that new capacitor." She turned to Danny and pulled her blue hood off. She walked over to him and sat down on the seat next to him. "Danny, what's bringing on all the questions?"

"Huh?"

She smiled. "Sweetie, don't worry about the ghosts. They can't feel." She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him a bit. "Ghosts don't have emotions. They are just gobs of energy."

_She thinks that I have a moral problem with the ghosts being in that torture cell. _Danny was silent. _That's completely wrong._

Danny sighed. "It's nothing, Mom."

She watched him for a second. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right sweetie? _Anything?_"

Danny blinked at her blankly. "Yeah…"

Suddenly Jack yelped, a sliver of smoke rising up from the computer tied to the glowing bubble. Maddie giggled slightly. She leaned in close and whispered, "Bet you dinner dishes that he forgot to unplug the generator."

Danny laughed. "No deal. It's Jazz's turn to do the dishes. I'll let her keep them."

Maddie grinned and stood up. "Jack, unplug the generator and I'll get the spare capacitor."

Jack poked his head up over the console. "There's the reason why I love you," he said. "You know me so well."

Danny rolled his eyes. "So… after you get that thing in, it's done?"

"Yup!" Jack said happily. "Almost done. This will get us on the cover of Ghost Hunters Monthly for sure."

"For sure," Danny muttered under his breath. He watched in silence as his parents put together the last few pieces of a device that could kill him. His gaze traveled around the lab. _Strike that thought. They are finishing _another_ device that could kill me._

"It's done!" Maddie shrieked excitedly. "JAZZ!"

"She's not here," Danny answered. He watched his parents' faces fall slightly. "She went to the library to some research or something."

"Oh…" his father rubbed his hands against his orange hazmat, "well, at least you're here to witness history in the making!"

"Exactly," Maddie agreed. "Jack, plug it in."

Danny leaned forwards slightly as Jack plugged the console in. A small screen flickered in to life and the small mass of machinery at the top of the bubble whirred slightly. Danny wrinkled his eyebrows slightly. _That was it?_

His parents raced over to the computer and started pressing buttons, murmuring softly under their breath. Danny waited quietly, tapping his fingers against his knee. _Is it working?_

He watched them carefully fine-tuning their machine. Minutes passed. _Does it work?_ He tapped his foot loudly against the bottom step, half hoping to get their attention. He didn't want to actually ask – that would get him stuck in a three hour conversation on how it works and what it'll do.

Maddie strode over to the bubble and fiddled with some of the bits for a moment before heading back over to the console to whisper with Jack some more. _This is killing me_, Danny thought sarcastically. _Does it actually work?_

He cleared his thought. Nothing. He sighed loudly. Nothing. Finally, he decided to risk asking. "So? Does it work?"

Nothing.

Danny gritted his teeth. _This leaves only one option_. He pushed himself to his feet and started off across the room. Keeping carefully away from the cabinet that held the ghost detection devices and steering clear of the table full of who-knows-what, Danny made his way over to the glowing bubble.

An odd beeping filled the air as he got closer. Danny hesitated when his parents stiffened. "Um… Mom?"

Maddie turned around and smiled brilliantly. "Danny! Do you hear that?"

"The beeping?"

"Yes! That's the ghost tracker built into the Fenton Bubble." Her eyes seemed to shine with delight. "There's a ghost around."

He could feel his face going pale. "This thing can find ghosts on its own?"

Jack nodded. "And capture them too! I think…" He turned back to the computer and pushed a few keys.

"Great," Danny whispered. "I'm going to go upstairs for awhile." _And wait for Jazz to come home and sabotage this thing…_

He was about to turn around and leave, but the computer suddenly stopped beeping. The silver machine above the bubble whirred slightly, a long, snake-like appendage growing out of its mass and coiling into a circle. Danny watched it with apprehension. Maddie and Jack watched it with growing excitement.

Suddenly, the silver appendage raced through the air. It wrapped around Danny's wrist before he had time to react and yanked him off of his feet. Stumbling to his knees, the machine began to reel him in slowly and surely. "Mom!" he called.

"Hold on, sweetie – we'll stop it." Maddie was tapping away furiously at the computer.

Danny was pulled through the glowing bubble and released. He kept on his knees – the bubble was only four feet tall and not big enough for him to stand up in. _Wonderful._

"Just relax, Danny," Jack called. "This thing can't hurt you."

Danny held perfectly still, his eyes crammed shut. _Please, please, please, please, please…_

Against his prayers, dozens of metallic ropes dropped out of the blob of machinery over his head and twitched to life, snaking forwards and wrapping around his arms and legs. Danny started to struggle against the cords, trying to get himself free.

"Danny, stop struggling."

"Yeah, right!" Danny snapped, his struggling taking itself up a notch as a rope coiled around his torso.

"You'll be fine."

Just as the words left Jack's mouth, the machine zapped Danny with electricity. Danny screamed, high and wild, as energy coursed through him, snapping his head back and making his hair sizzle.

"Danny!" Maddie yelled, leaving the computer and racing to her son's side. "Jack!"

"How…" Jack stared at the bubble, eyes wide. "Why…."

"Stop it!" Maddie ordered.

Jack started to quickly press buttons on the machine, and Maddie pressed her hands against the glowing bubble. She gazed into her son's eyes.

"Ectosignature detected," the machine pronounced happily. The electricity raging through Danny's body ceased. Danny slumped to the ground, or as far as he could while still tangled in the ropes, and gasped for air. "Analyzing…" Maddie left his side to stare at the screen with Jack in disbelief. "Ectosignature analyzed. Compensating… complete. Refining…"

Danny brought his head up to stare at his parents. "What does that mean?" he panted, his voice breaking.

"The machine…" Maddie hesitated. "If you were a ghost…" she hesitated again. The machine is able to set itself into specific frequency of the ghost we capture. That increases the level of pain…" She tapped the display, puzzled.

"Why would it find an ectosignature for you?" Jack wondered, shaking his head.

"Get me out," Danny whispered, not having heard anything since the _increases the level of pain_ part. "Get me out, NOW!"

It was seconds later when the electricity flowed through him again. Set into the correct frequency, this time it didn't just hurt, it actually burned through his every molecule. Danny could feel his body fizzling and shrieking. He wasn't even sure if he was screaming – his ears were ringing and his throat was raw from the electricity flowing through him.

Suddenly, it stopped. "Refining complete," the machine proclaimed. "Secret keyed into system. Beginning phase one."

As the bonds released him, a whirling saw blade descended from the machine. It hung in the middle of the bubble above his head, and then suddenly started to move towards Danny.

"It's keyed in on a secret. Why would it think you have a secret?" Jack's forehead wrinkled as he stared at the screen. "It shouldn't be able to do that."

Maddie was anxiously tapping buttons. "Jack, we need to get him out of there, not ask questions."

"It can't hurt him, Maddie. It only hurts ghosts."

"Dad!" Danny called, pressing himself up against the floor of the bubble.

"Jack, get him out!" Maddie glared at him.

"I'm trying to turn it off, Mads. Hold on."

The saw plunged ever closer to him. Danny gulped, his eyes wide. The very deadly-looking saw was only a two feet away from him. _I need to make it stop!_ Danny screamed in his head. _It's looking for secrets…_

"I'm the one who's always stealing your inventions!" Danny blurted, his face turned away from the descending saw blade. Incredibly, the saw hesitated. Danny opened his eyes, hopefully. Then, with a whir, it started up again, steadily coming closer.

"It's keying in an even bigger secret. But it shouldn't be able to. You're not a ghost." Jack frowned at his screen.

"Jack!" Maddie yelped, pushing him out of the way. "Get our son out of there!" She began to tap buttons frantically.

"It _can't_ hurt him," Jack snapped back, but reached out to start working on the computer again.

Danny wracked his brain. "I'm the one that's always breaking the Ghost Gabber when you get it fixed." The saw stopped again.

"What?" Jack looked up from beside Maddie. "Why would you break that?"

"Jack!" Maddie snapped.

The saw whirred and snaked closer.

Danny pressed himself against the floor. There was no escape. "I sneak out at night, after curfew," he tried, but the saw wouldn't take that. It wanted bigger secrets.

The saw was only a foot from his face. Then a half-foot away. Maddie cried out, grabbing a heavy tool from her tool box and running towards the bubble, thinking to break into it.

The saw whirred closer. Inches. Half an inch. Quarter of an inch. The saw was a hair from touching him when Danny screamed. "I died in that lab accident!"

The saw stopped dead. It retreated back to the center of the bubble, hanging there, scanning him.

"Danny?" his mother whispered. She had come to a stop halfway across the lab.

Danny sobbed, "Please get me out. We can talk about it later. Please get me out."

"Why…" Jack trailed off, staring helplessly at his son.

"I didn't want to tell you. Please." The saw whirred back to life, quickly snaking towards him. Danny twisted his head around, "What the…" He collected a gob of ecto-energy in his fingers, forming it into a powerful blast. "Stupid machine! What more do you want!" he shrieked, slamming the blast into the saw, carrying with it all of his fear and hatred, shattering it into a million pieces. Then, he turned around to his parents, who had both become very pale.

"Please get me out!" Danny pleaded, his hand pressed against the glass, a glistening tear leaving a trail on his cheek. "Please."

Maddie and Jack stared at their son, tools falling out of nerveless fingers. "That's why everything goes off around you…"

"Please…"

Behind him, another tool – this one able to withstand ecto-blasts – descended from the ceiling. "Beginning phase two," the computer purred.

Maddie and Jack stood shock still. Neither made a move.

"Please…"


	8. Please 2 (Shapes)

Maddie Fenton stared through the sights of her ectogun in disbelief. The ghost-boy was sailing slowly through the air, reveling in the chaos and panic he was causing. She bit her lower lip as she lined up her shot. She had _almost_ believed the boy. A part of her heart had given in and thought that he had been telling the truth – that he was good. Phantom was different from other ghosts.

They had talked a few weeks ago, her and Phantom. She had captured him in a net and asked him two hundred and eleven questions before letting him go. They have had a sort of pact since then; a peace between two foes. They exchanged information. He had even stopped down in the lab a few times to chat since that day. They had almost been friends.

Her eyes hardened. She had obviously been wrong in think that he was anything other than a normal ghost. She centered the cross hairs on the ghost's form. She still couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Phantom's behavior, however. "Be gone spectral spook," she said as she pulled the trigger.

A sharp blast of green energy shot out of the barrel of her ectogun and flashed through the darkening sky. The ghost jerked up at the last second, but it was too late. The blaze of light slammed into his faintly-glowing ectoplasm and exploded. The ghost let out a yelp of pain and surprise before falling to the earth.

Maddie strode up to the quivering ghost without her usual smile. She examined the ghost-boy carefully, her brow furrowing in confusion. His matted hair was almost shoulder length, his black jumpsuit missing the distinctive emblem in the front. The ghost slid slowly along the street towards the alley, clutching at his chest with his arms, trying to get away. He was silent – the usual taunts and sarcastic comments missing from his attitude.

When she was a few feet away, she once again raised her gun and pointed it at the ghost. "Phantom?" she asked, not sure. He looked up at her, red eyes blazing with hatred, and snarled.

Point-blank, she shot him again. The ghost smashed into the wall of a building and oozed slightly when he dropped to the ground. He fizzled a bit, his edges blurring into oblivion for less than a heartbeat. He raised his head. Red eyes stared at her in a mixture of agony and rage. Suddenly, one of his arms snaked out of his huddled form and wrapped around her wrist. Maddie gasped. Her finger tightened convulsively on the trigger of her ectogun. Another blast razed the ghost to the ground, his body seeming to disintegrate completely in a flash of strange white light that left another huddled form behind.

Jazz. Maddie dropped her ectogun in surprise. "Sweetie!" she cried, taking a step forwards.

"Mother," Jazz whispered. Her head was lowered down to the ground, her matted, red hair dangling in front of her face. "Please, help me," she moaned.

Maddie strode up to her daughter's side. "It's okay, sweetie," Maddie crooned softly, "the ghost is gone."

"Is he?" Jazz snarled suddenly. Her head came up, her eyes flaring red. She struck out with her hands and raked her long fingernails across Maddie's face.

Jumping up, Maddie backed quickly away. "Fight it, darling. The ghost can't control you if you don't want it to."

"I hate you!" Jazz screamed, staggering to her feet and keeping her bloody eyes locked on Maddie. "I'll kill you!" Jazz leapt into the air towards Maddie, her mouth opening to reveal inch-long fangs and her fingernails growing into claws.

Maddie stared in shock at the apparition of her daughter. At the last second, she ducked, her daughter ramming into the wall behind her. She twirled around just in time to see Jazz lying on the ground, her neck bent at an unnatural angle, dissolve into nothing.

"It wasn't real," Maddie whispered into the silence after a few seconds. She touched a trembling hand to her cheek and wiped away a stray tear. "It wasn't real."

She walked over to her ectogun, stooping momentarily to grab it, and whispered it one more time. "It wasn't real." She just had the gun in her hands, checking to make sure it was still working, when the ghost-boy tossed a ball of glowing red ectoplasm in her direction.

Maddie spun towards the ghost, raising the gun again. She took a few pot-shots, the gun on a lower setting than usual, giving her time to think.

_That wasn't Jazz._

She twisted her finger, spiking the amount of energy in the gun's blast. The next shot would have taken out the ghost if it had hit. She glared through the sight. This ghost-boy's costume was grey and silver, his hair a murky white.

_That wasn't Jazz, and that wasn't Phantom._

This shot grazed the ghost-boy, causing him spin across the sky out of control. Maddie snarled.

_That wasn't Phantom. This one isn't EITHER!_

Her last shot blazed through the sky and nailed the white-haired ghost dead on. The ghost streaked to the ground, forming a small crater where his mass of ectoplasm hit the ground. She ran up to the hole, aiming her ectogun down into the hole.

The ghost looked up at her with the same red eyes as the previous ghost. He snarled angrily, opening his wide mouth into a ferocious parody of a smile. Maddie carefully lined her shot up. She blasted the ghost right between his eyes.

He screeched in pain, falling against the side of the crater. A ring of blazingly white light appeared around his waist, separating into two rings that traveled up and down his body, leaving her distinctively dressed husband behind. Jack pushed against the wall with trembling arms.

"Jack?" Maddie whispered, barely hearing the ectogun beep softly that it was low on power. _Is it really?_

"Maddie, help me." Jack coughed and collapsed into the bottom of the pit. His eyes were closed tightly in pain. "The ghost… please…"

"Jack, honey, look at me." Her legs twitched. It took all of her heart and soul to not jump down into the pit with the love of her life. "You need to open your eyes."

"Please…" the big man pleaded. "It hurts. Please, Mads…"

She nodded finally and slid down into the hole. Maddie touched her husband's shoulder and knelt down by his side. "It'll be alright, Jack."

"Yes, it will," Jack snickered, opening his eyes. Their manic red light lit up the twilight, illuminating the crazed sneer that had twisted his face. "I'll kill…" he blinked in surprise at something that was hovering just above her shoulder.

Maddie brought the butt of her raised ectogun down hard against Jack's temple. She sighed as the form of her husband turned into a freezing mist, leaving her all alone in the dark. "Fool me once," she whispered and climbed out of the hole.

She paced down the dark street, her eyes alert for another ghost. The scanner had shown that three ghosts had escaped the ghost zone and were taking refuge in this area of town. Two down, one to go.

"MOM!" The shriek echoed eerily down the abandoned street. Maddie's head jerked up to see her daughter racing towards her. Just behind Jazz, a third ghost-boy floated, sending potshots raining down onto the street around her. This ghost-boy was the closest yet to the original, black and silver jumpsuit topped with disarrayed white hair. The only sign that this was another copy was that red energy surrounded the ghost rather than the normal green.

Maddie raised her ectogun. It chirped softly, low on energy. She carefully lined up the shot. She had no room for error. Bracing herself slightly, she pulled the trigger.

The ghost took the blast head-on, flopping lifelessly to the ground. Almost instantly, two rings of light appeared around his middle and separated, leaving a stunned-looking Danny behind.

Maddie strode quickly up to her son, centering the barrel of her gun on his forehead. "Fool me twice," she hissed sourly. But she didn't pull the trigger. Not yet.

Danny was trembling on the ground. "Open your eyes," Maddie ordered, her ectogun not wavering for a second.

"The ghost," Danny panted, his messy hair covering his eyes, "it's a shapeshifter."

"I know," Maddie snapped. "Look at me."

"Not me," he said softly. "Jazz."

Maddie's eyes widened as she twisted her head around to look at Jazz. The red-haired girl was standing slightly behind her, shaking her head. "Mom!" she said, pointing. "The ghost! Behind you!"

Danny pushed himself to his feet, red eyes blazing in his teenage face. His claws slid out of his hands as he crouched in a basic martial arts stance. A demented grin crossed his face. "I will _kill_ you," he laughed. "You won't kill me! I'm your son."

He pushed off from the ground, snaking in under her lax guard. He slashed his claws against her stomach. Maddie backpedaled, clutching her bleeding abdomen. Danny grinned. "I'll kill you first," he whispered, "then I'll kill Jazz. Then the rest of your family." He came forwards again, low to the ground, his bloody eyes focused on hers.

Maddie kicked out at the last second, her foot snapping Danny sharply in the chin. The boy tumbled backwards, the red light dying out of his eyes. He dissolved before he had even hit the ground. She blinked tears out of her eyes as her mind pictured her little boy flying through the air. But it wasn't really her Danny – it had been a ghost.

"That's it," she sighed. Smiling, Maddie turned around to Jazz. "They're…" She trailed off, staring in despair at her oldest child. "Jazz?"

Jazz smiled at her. Fangs sticking out of her mouth, claws clicking softly on the ground as the girl crouched, ready to attack, blood-red eyes focused on Maddie. Jazz spoke, "What's wrong, Mom? I'm your daughter. Don't you trust me?"

Maddie leveled her gun. It only had two shots left. "You are not my daughter. How many more ghosts are there out tonight?"

Jazz laughed. "Would you believe me if I told you I was the last one?"

Maddie hesitated, then shook her head.

"Then I'm the only one left." Jazz chuckled mirthlessly. "Come on, Mom. Come and play with me." Jazz sprang out of her crouch.

Maddie ducked to the left, avoiding the first lunge. Jazz's claws scraped against the pavement as she landed and spun around. Before she had time to jump again, Maddie grabbed the ectostaff off of her belt and activated it. Twin beams of ectoplasm sprung into life around the little cylinder to form a four-foot long staff. Maddie fell into a ready stance and waited. "Where is my real daughter?"

"As if you'd believe me," Jazz pouted. "Maybe you'd rather believe your son? He's been a good host." Suddenly, that ring of light appeared around Jazz's waist and separated, leaving her son behind. "Mom?" Danny asked, his red eyes flickering to blue. "What's going on?"

"Danny?" Maddie held perfectly still, staring at her son. There was nothing out of place – he was accurate from the disheveled black hair and blue eyes down to the hole in his right shoe. "Is it really you?"

Danny glanced around, his blue eyes fearful. "Where'd the ghost go? The one that looked like Jazz? She attacked me. I don't remember…"

"She possessed you, Danny," Maddie smiled, "and I think she's still in there. But we'll get her out. I promise." She wanted to believe this one like nothing else. She wanted it to truly be her son.

"She's still in me?" Danny's eyes widened and his mouth dropped. "But…" He stopped. "I can feel her," he whispered. "She's fighting. She wants back out." His eyes flashed bloody red for a heartbeat before fading back to blue. "What do I do? Mom…"

"Danny," she said, "fight her." She stepped closer, lowering her gun. "You can do it, sweetie."

Danny sank to the ground, clutching his stomach. "It hurts, Mom. Help me, please?"

Maddie dropped down next to him, dropping her ectostaff, and pulled him into a hug, giving in. This really was Danny, it had to be. "Fight her, Danny. No ghost can win."

"Or…" Danny whispered, he was silent for a second. Then Maddie yelped as claws dug into her arm. Danny looked up and pierced her with his blue gaze. He smiled happily. "Or I could just kill you. That would be nice." The claws dug in deeper and fangs appeared in his mouth.

Maddie brought her other hand up in loose fist and punched Danny in the face, fighting back a sob of dispair. The claws let go just long enough for her to scramble to her feet and step away. "Ghost," she spat, her heart breaking in two.

"Duh," Danny smiled. He pushed himself into a back-flip that left him standing in a simple martial-arts style stance. "_Your_ kids are home safe where you left them. Your whole family is there. Watching some TV show with a big, spinning wheel. I should know – I was just there, stealing enough DNA to copy their forms. I can do Jack too… want to see?"

"Ghost," she scowled. Maddie raised her ectogun. _Two more shots_… _something will pay for this._

"Can you shoot me? Can you shoot your own son?" Danny took three quick steps forward, his blue eyes blazing insanely. "No, huh? Well then." He flipped out a kick to her side.

Maddie dodged the kick with a sharp twist of her body, bringing her in close enough to get an elbow into his chest. Danny exhaled sharply, curling up and sinking slightly to the ground. Maddie chopped downwards right above his shoulder blades with tears stinging her eyes.

Danny fell to the ground. He rolled over onto his back, slowly starting to dissolve. Maddie dropped to her knees beside him. She gazed at the twisted visage of her son – her own son – dying because of her. It didn't matter than this wasn't really Danny. Her heart broke watching him die.

His maniacal eyes lit up for a second. "Good luck dodging my brother, Mom," he whispered. Danny vanished into a glowing red mist.

"What?" Maddie followed his gaze, glancing upwards, blinking tears out of her eyes. Yet _another_ ghost-boy was flying through the sky. She snarled wordlessly, raising her gun. _Enough of this. I will not watch my son die again._

The ghost pulled up sharply, his green eyes widening. "What's going on, Mo… Maddie?"

"Enough!" she snapped. Her gun whined as it sent a blast of green light punching through the air. The ghost-boy smashed into the building and fell to the ground. Maddie picked up her staff dropped and followed the fallen ghost. She whirled the staff once and slammed it down on the ghost's back.

As expected, two rings of light appeared around his waist, separating to leave an image of her son behind.

"Enough of this!" She leveled her gun at the two blue eyes in that face, marveling at how good the copies had gotten. This copy even managed to pull off the scared look.

"M-m-mom?" the ghost stammered. "What…"

"No more copies of my family!" she snarled. "I've had enough."

"Please, Mom," he whispered. "It's really me. Please… just let me explain…"

"No! No more lies. No more!" The gun whirred as it pulled the last of its energy out of the depleted batteries. There was just enough energy left to get rid of this ghost for good.

"Please…"

"No," she hissed. Green light bathed the figure as the blast readied itself.

"Please…"

Her finger drifted over to the trigger. She watched the ghost's eyes widen in terror. A look of disbelief crossed his face. This ghost was good. But not good enough.

"Please…"


	9. Please 3 (Aramanthia's Pier)

In the weeks that had passed since that incident with Walker, Maddie and Phantom had settled into an uneasy truce. The huntress had agreed not to shoot him on sight and Phantom had agreed to leave her, for the most part, alone. Maddie had been trying to keep that particular ghost out of her mind lately. Thinking about him gave her a splitting headache. Every bit of information she had collected so far pointed to the fact that Phantom was not a… normal ghost. Phantom was an enigma. A deviation. He threw off almost every one of her charts and theories about ghosts.  
The most annoying part was he seemed to know that his oddness was causing her headaches and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it.

Even though Phantom had agreed to stay away from the lab, one particular Saturday evening found him there, floating a few inches above the floor. Maddie stared into his spectral eyes, not quite believing what the ghost was saying. It was impossible. He would never ask for that…

Yet he was. He was almost on his knees, begging for that one thing that tossed the rest of Maddie's beliefs about ghosts out the window. His green eyes pleaded with her, full of fear and pain and… defeat? The sixteen-year-old ghost's normal aura of confident power was gone, replaced by the distinct feeling of pure terror and the need for…

Help.

"Please," Phantom begged. "You need to help me."

"Give me one good reason to," Maddie replied, turning away from the hovering teenager. She walked across the lab to pick up one of her latest inventions. She studied it, still slightly off balance due to the fact that Phantom had just blown her only remaining ghost theory out of the water. Ghosts can ask for help? Opening the small electrical compartment on the side, she tried to ignore the chill breeze wafting off of her spectral guest.

"My friend will die," he whispered.

Her head twisted around to gaze at the ghost. "Ghost's don't die," she said shortly, her fingers clenching tightly around the invention. She could see where this was going and she didn't like it.

"She's not a ghost," Phantom retorted.

Maddie nodded. That had been the answer she was expecting. "Why me?"

The ghost's body tensed for a second, his eyes flickering to the ground and back up. "Why not?" he asked, trying desperately to regain his usual self-assured tone.

"You can't ask your friends?" Maddie twisted the word at the end. She knew that Phantom had human friends as well as ghost friends, a fact that always threw her for a loop. What humans would possibly want to be around a ghost?

"All the ones I trust either can't help or won't help." The ghost's face lost all of its hastily built-up confidence, eyes probing deep into hers. "Please, Maddie."

"What would we need to do?" When the ghost's eyes lit up in delight, she hastily added, "If I decide to come along."

Biting his lip, the ghost dropped down to the floor. "She was kidnapped by…" he hesitated, "…by the Wisconsin ghost and taken to a place in the ghost zone called Aramanthia's Pier." He looked up at her, unasked question glittering in his eyes.

Maddie shook her head. She'd never heard of it.

"It's a place at the very edge of the Ghost Zone. I've been there before… with my friends. Once." Phantom wrung his hands together, his eyes filling with remembered pain. "The stuff beyond the edge of the Ghost Zone is endless. It's kind of like an ocean of ectoplasm – except none of it has a form or a purpose. It's… waiting. Aramanthia's Pier is the only was to get at all that power. The pier is the only thing that goes past the barrier."

"Barrier?" She raised an eyebrow.

"It was designed to keep the ghosts in the Ghost Zone. The barrier magnifies your greatest fear and uses it against you. Giving into your fears destroys you, and you get torn apart. Ghosts can't do anything against their fears." He was silent for a moment. "Humans are much better at it."

"So it's a good thing you are half-human, right?" Maddie crossed her arms. And this is where he denies it. Again.

Phantom glanced at her, his green eyes shining oddly. Slowly he shook his head. "I'm not half-human," he said slowly, carefully. "That ghost in Walker's cell… he was lying."

Maddie rolled her eyes. Phantom completely trounced that poor ghost that had let it slip that Phantom was… how had he put it? Half-human vermin. "Fine," she sighed. The main reason I… trust… him at all is that he's half-human.

"I can get through," Phantom insisted, "but it's hard. Sa… my friend figured out how to get past the barrier last time we were here. She figured that we couldn't fight our own fears… but we'd be able to fight each other's. So we came up with a plan."

"You switched fears?" she asked, following his line of thought.

Phantom nodded. "We switched fears. That's why I want to take you along. I need someone to switch fears with." He eyes glistened. "I can't get through by myself."

Maddie was silent, staring at the forgotten invention still in her hand. "Why do you want to take me though? I'll see your greatest fears."

He winced, but answered after a moment. "I trust you, that's why."

She gazed at him. Phantom's shoulders were rounded, his head bowed. Normally neon eyes were dull and full of fear. Even when all the chips were against him, she had never seen the ghost so broken and desperate. Every bit of his cocky confidence was gone. He really needs my help. "When do we need to go?"

Phantom smiled slightly at her, his eyes glowing in relief. "Now. When the tide comes in, Aramanthia's Pier gets swamped. Anybody that's on it will get dragged into the ocean and die."

"When does the tide come in?"

Silence.

Maddie shivered. "That's soon?"

Phantom just grabbed her arm and yanked her into the ghost zone.

Maddie stumbled away from Phantom as soon as he dropped her onto the ground beside the pier. She narrowed her eyes and rubbed at her shoulder. Idiot ghost-boy, she sighed, he almost yanked my arm out of its socket.  
Opening her mouth to talk, she hesitated. Phantom was staring past her, his eyes glowing fiercely. Maddie twisted around and stopped dead. For the first time, she saw Aramanthia's Pier.

Glittering just a few feet from her toes was the barrier the ghost had mentioned. It curved around into oblivion – a seamless, translucent wall separating the Ghost Zone from… nothing. A deep, midnight green glowed everywhere, darkly illuminating the huge expanse of the void. Appearing out of the emptiness, gloomy ectoplasm washed against Aramanthia's Pier like giant ocean waves.

The pier itself was nothing more than a simple-looking wooden dock that extended about a hundred feet into the nothingness. At the very end of the wharf was a small, blue-striped lighthouse. The lighthouse's greenish light shone through the darkness of the abyss.

But Maddie knew that Phantom's eyes were not on the incredible view. His electric eyes were focused on a small figure that was lying prone at the other end of the pier. Maddie blinked, surprised by the familiar-looking girl. "Sam," Phantom whispered, taking a step forwards so that his nose was inches from the barrier. She looked at him, eyes widening as she took in the fear and panic in his voice.

"You ready?" he asked softly, holding out his hand to her.

Maddie hesitated. It's the ghost's fault she's in there, why should I risk my life… she shook her head sharply, annoyed at her own thoughts. That's selfish and bitter. Of course I'm going to help save Sam. I'm not going to let her die just because I don't like Phantom.

Phantom's eyes were wide with disbelief however. He took a step away from the barrier, his hand dropping back to his side. He saw me shake my head. "Of course," she said quickly, reaching out and grabbing his hand. "Let's go."

The ghost smiled shakily. Maddie stepped up next to him, staring into the soft swirling and sparking energy of the barrier. "Remember," Phantom whispered. "Whatever you see, don't give in. Don't move. Don't do anything."

"What will I see?"

His cold fingers tightened around hers. "I don't know," he replied quietly. "Sam never told me what she saw last time we went through."

"You don't know what your own fear is?" That doesn't sound right.

"I have so many fears," he smiled, "I don't know for sure which is my greatest fear."

Maddie nodded absently. "Let's go," she stated and took one step forwards into the barrier. It flickered and sparkled around her with an intense green energy. After a moment, she raised her free hand and slowly raked her fingers through the dense firefly-like energy flares. They swirled between her fingers and danced around her head. She smiled. It's pretty.

Turning her head, she glanced over at Phantom. He was staring at the flares in terror, his face whiter than normal. He flicked a glance in her direction and smiled slightly. "Ready?" he mouthed.

One of the flickers of energy spun through the air and landed lightly on her nose. It tickled her nose for a moment, suddenly growing larger and brighter. In a heartbeat the small light had completely enveloped the huntress in its almost-white light. Then came the pain.

A scream ripped out of her throat. Her whole body shrieked, every molecule feeling like it was being torn in different directions. Suddenly, the light and pain were gone. Blackness met her slowly opening eyes.

She breathed quickly, glancing around in the darkness. Abruptly, Danny appeared before her, small and fragile, barely three years old. "Mommy!" Danny laughed, holding up his arms. His large, blue eyes sparkled in the emptiness.

We need to switch, Phantom's fear-filled voice echoed in her mind. Before we give in.

Maddie looked down at her child once more, and then closed her eyes. Whatever was going to happen, I do not want to see. Her little baby called her name once more before the white pain once again slammed into her body. For an instant, her shoulder wrenched painfully and the world spun around her. The pain stopped as quickly as it started and she collapsed to her knees, gasping, one hand coming up to cradle her throbbing arm.

Almost against her will, her eyes opened. Toddler Danny was gone. Into the darkness she peered, her eyes straining for a glimpse of Phantom's worst fears. Her breath caught in her throat as she wondered at the horrible things a ghost's mind would be able to concoct.

A green blast of ectoenergy blew past her ear, hissing in the black air. Maddie spun, her eyes widening as she caught a flash of black hair and checkered skirt. The sharp flare of green energy took Sam straight in the back.

"Sam!" a boy yelled. Then Danny was there, appearing out of the darkness, racing to the girl's side. He picked her up in his arms, blood leaking all over his clothes, his fingers running over her neck as he desperately felt for a heartbeat.

Why is this Phantom's worst fear? Maddie's analytical mind questioned as she took a few staggering steps forwards. Almost overriding that thought was the desire to run to her child's side. It's just a fear. It's a nightmare. Don't give in… Still, tears trickled down her cheeks as she stared at the sight of her son screaming into the night.

"No!" he cried, hugging the body of his best friend to him. He hunched over her, stroking her hair. "Sam… don't leave me…"

"Did you think she'd ever love a freak like you?" a cruel voice echoed from behind Maddie. She twisted on her heel, her eyes ripping away from her son to stare up into the sky. Floating there was a ghost – a twisted, older image of Phantom. His hair flamed, his red eyes flared with manic delight, and his cape fluttered in an imaginary breeze. "Really, I did you a favor, getting rid of her like that. Now you are more like me than ever."

"I agree," another voice cut in. Maddie jerked towards that voice, stumbling backwards a step when the vampire-like Wisconsin ghost stepped out of the black. "You should be relieved to be rid of that bit of trash. Now you can join me as you always should have, son."

The two ghosts flew a bit closer to her son, who was sitting perfectly still, his eyes closed. "You…" Danny's voice was chocked. "You…"

He looked up, his normally blue eyes flaring to a spectral green. Maddie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "You…" he whispered again. "I'm…" Danny glanced back down at Sam's bloody body, then back up at the ghosts, tears trickling down his face. His green eyes blurred to a bloody red. "I'm going to kill you." Maddie shivered at the sudden influx of pure malice into his voice.

He rose to his feet, letting Sam drop forgotten to the ground. Two rings of light appeared around his waist, separating and leaving Phantom behind. Not the self-assured, green-eyed Phantom that she had seen in Walker's cell; this one was a twisted, malignant form with glowing red eyes and flaming hair. When he spoke, cold malevolence dripped from his every word. "You will pay for what you did."

The boy moved, throwing himself off the black, unseen ground. Phantom grabbed a hold of the Wisconsin ghost and abruptly tore the specter in half. Maddie flinched away from the gobs of flying ectoplasm. She closed her eyes in terrified confusion as Phantom flew towards the older version of himself. Her hands came up to unconsciously cover her ears as the sounds of the one-sided fight echoed in the blackness around her.

When she couldn't hear anything more, she cautiously opened her eyes. She watched in amazement as Danny dropped back to the ground, his bloody eyes glistening with glee as the splattered remains of the ghosts disintegrated around him. He laughed.

Slowly, he knelt down and touched Sam's cold body. "They will pay, Sam," he hissed, his eyes flaring red once more. "I will make them all pay." All around them, the darkness suddenly vanished. Amity Park appeared, glittering in the morning sunlight. "Each and every one of them," he finished.

And with a delightfully slow pace, Danny Phantom tore the town to shreds.

"No…" Maddie whispered, still frozen in place. All around her, Amity Park fell to pieces. People fled into her line of sight, only to be shot down by obsessed red light. Blood splattered everything, forming a macabre painting around the discarded body of Danny's best friend.

"No…" she said again, barely audible above the screams and shouts of the dying. Jazz blew into her vision, eyes wide and terrified. Phantom blazed towards her, both blood-stained hands reaching out to tear his sister's body to pieces…

Then it was all gone.

Maddie dropped to the ground, tears dripping onto the wooden pier. Gasping for breath between the violent sobs that were shaking her body, she shut her eyes. Blood danced in her vision.

"It's over," Phantom whispered. She jerked upwards, her panicked eyes taking in the young ghost's form. Phantom was curled into a little ball, his hands pressed into the sides of his head. "We made it." He seemed to be saying it to reassure himself, almost like a prayer. Maddie watched as a pearlescent tear trickled down his cheek and splattered on the wood. "It's done."

He looked up at her, his normally sparkling, green eyes dull and full of pain. Maddie stared at him. She could not reconcile the malicious, blood-thirsty ghost of that… nightmare… with the fear-filled boy trembling next to her. And Danny… she pushed the thought of what that might be about out of her head.

Suddenly he looked up. "Sam," he said shortly, thrusting himself to his feet. He stumbled down the length of the slightly heaving dock, green eyes fixed on the still form of the girl at the end.

Maddie swallowed heavily, also rising to her feet. As she made her way towards the lighthouse, Phantom dropped to the girl's side. With a cry, he pulled her into his arms, cradling Sam tightly to him.

For a second, Maddie's heart stopped. A fragment of the nightmare sliced through her mind: Danny hugging the broken body of his friend. Before her, Phantom was curled around Sam in the exact same fashion. Danny…

"Sam… no… please…" he whispered as she drew near. He tore off one of his gloves with his teeth, his scarred fingers pressing themselves desperately into her neck. Eyes closed as he focused on trying to find a pulse. "Please…" he begged as another tear worked its way out of his eyes.

Maddie crouched down beside the ghost-boy and held out a hand. Carefully, she touched her fingers to Sam's cheek, dreading the cold, dead feeling she was sure would greet her. Instead, she blinked in surprise. The girl's flesh was warm. "She's alive," Maddie smiled.

Phantom looked at her, neon eyes wide. His arms tightened reflexively around Sam's unconscious form. "Sam," he cried, "thank you…"

Maddie watched the ghost for a moment, marveling at the thoughts that were crashing together in her brain. Could it be? Is it possible?

Suddenly Phantom jerked, his whole head twisting to stare up at the lighthouse. The beacon on top was glowing brighter, pulsing with power. Waves of green light crashed against the pier like huge ocean waves. A few sprinkles of cold power splashed against her back as a large wave rolled in. "The tide's coming in," he hissed. "We need to get out."

Without a second thought, Phantom was on his feet, Sam hugged to his chest. He took off up the pier, feet flying against the wooden panels. Maddie followed, not quite as agile on the swaying dock. When he reached the barrier, Phantom stopped and looked back. Frozen in place, he watched Maddie struggling against the ever-more-violently bucking pier.

A wave of dark-green light broke over the wooden planks, dousing Maddie in a flood of frozen energy and trying to throw her off the pier. She shivered, fingers numb, clutching at the harsh floorboards. Her eyes trailed up to meet Phantom's. Danny's… In his eyes, she saw another wave approaching. This one would take her off. She was doomed.

Danny moved, tossing Sam gently through the barrier and on to dry land before throwing himself into the air. In a breath, he was by her side, grabbing onto her arm. Using his momentum, he flung Maddie towards the barrier. She twisted around in midair, watching as Danny tumbled onto the pier. A tingle of cool energy, and she was through. Safe.

Green eyes sparkled as Danny glanced up. He had just enough time to smile at the fact that both of them were safe before the wave of green light rolled over him. It slammed into the pier, the ground shaking with the force its impact.

When the wave receded, Danny was gone.

"No!" Maddie screamed, her voice raw. She threw herself forwards, stopping just short of the fear-inducing barrier. Another wave was pounding towards the pier.

"Please!" she shrieked as she dropped to her knees. "Danny!"

Her voice echoed all over the Ghost Zone.

"Please…"


	10. Spectral Dance

Danny appeared at the door to my hotel room, an infectious grin crossing his face. "You like your room, Sammy-kins?"

I scowled at him, throwing a shoe in his direction. His hand came up in a leisurely arc to intercept the tossed article with a practiced ease that few people knew he possessed. He gazed down at the shoe for a moment, his smile only growing. "Oh yes, you must really hate this. Two weeks of being _forced _away from your parents." His sapphire eyes rolled as he tossed the shoe back onto my bed. "You done unpacking yet?"

"Do I look done?" I asked disagreeably, pushing my sweaty hair out of my forehead and glaring down at the clothes still in my suitcase. There was no way it was fair that he could be so cool and comfortable when everybody else was miserable. "Danny, it's 98 degrees outside – at least _try_ to act like you care."

His only response was to rest his cool arms on my shoulders and snicker evilly into my hair. "Part ghost. I'm my own air conditioner."

I sighed, knocking the suitcase and the remainder of my clothes off the bed and collapsing onto the comforter. "Why are you in such a good mood?"

"Spring break," he said, ticking points off on his fingers, "two weeks of no school, two weeks of no Lancer, two weeks of no homework, two weeks with you…" he drifted off, a slight reddish tinge to his cheeks.

"Yeah, but _Vlad _came with us." I said sourly, choosing to ignore how much my heart was pounding after that what Danny had said.

Danny shrugged, dropping onto the bed with me. "Tucker couldn't come, and my parents had to do i _something /i _with the ticket. It's not like they have many other friends. But as long as I stay as far away from him as possible, what do I care? We've been living in the same town for almost a year."

"Fine," I said, "but you're going to regret it."

"Doubt it," he said, smile suddenly returning. "Here," he reached into his back pocket, pulling out a creased and dinged up flyer. "Sounds like fun, want to go?"

I picked the slightly glowing paper out of his fingers and unfolded it, blinking at the electric writing. "Danny…"

"Yeah," his voice was sheepish, "I got it from a ghost."

"A ghost _dance_?" I wondered. "That sounds violent."

"Nope. There's supposedly some kind of peace pact for Spring Break. No fighting – just dancing and fun."

Gazing down at the partying figures on the page, I couldn't help the thoughts that were swirling in my head. _Me and Danny… dancing… _"Um…"

"If it helps, Vlad's not invited. Something about not being able to put aside his evil part… and it does sound like fun." He turned his eyes on me, big sky-blue orbs begging me to say yes. "Just you, me, sunset, a couple dozen dead guys…" A smile danced on his face.

"Is there going to be music?" I scowled, already knowing what my answer was going to be.

He nodded enthusiastically. "The best. The lead singer has even published some albums." Something flickered in his eyes, but his smile was on full force. "Please, Sam," he begged.

I sighed, fingering the cold, delicate paper between my fingers. Why I even bothered to nod I will never know.

* * *

I have to say, ghosts know how to pick a party location. We were already pretty far from the sweltering island the humans were taking refuge on, flying towards a small isle just visible on the horizon. The scorching day had given way to a sizzling evening, the sun still settling behind the ocean waves.

Danny grinned at me as he held me close to his side. "You ready to have fun?"

"A human and a halfa at a ghost party. Sounds like a blast and a half," I said, rolling my eyes. "I agreed to come, didn't I?"

"Yeah," he pouted, diving down to skim just over the tops of the waves. Cool mist blew in my face as he sparked a skipping fantail with his free hand. "But you never agreed to have fun. We don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I think I'll be good," I gasped as he started to swoop in between the swells… at sixty miles an hour. "Unless you make me sick, of course."

"Sorry," he laughed as the beach came into view. There were dozens of ghosts already scattered around the small cove: walking on the water, lounging on the sand, or hovering by the trees. He hesitated, stopping for just a moment. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Let's go, Ghost Boy," I said with an eye roll. "Stop worrying about me, would you?"

"I can't help it," he apologized, zipping towards the beach once more. He pointed towards a small group of ghosts floating in the air above the water. "See? There's the band."

I squinted at the four ghosts, blinking in surprise. A drummer and three guitarists, it looked like. One of the guitarists had long, blue, flaming hair… "Ember?" I hissed.

Danny shrugged as he dropped us down onto the soft sand. "Does that matter?" he asked me softly. "She can't attack us or anything."

"No, I guess not, jerk," I said, poking his shoulder sourly, "but you could have told me."

"Phantom! You came!" One of Ember's guitarists appeared right in front of us, his long, green hair drooping in his eyes. "You know, we should've put _you_ on the flyer and we'd've gotten a lots bigger audience." He grinned, his smile almost disappearing behind his huge sunglasses. "Ghosts'll be coming from all around now that we have somebody famous in the wings."

"What about Ember?" I asked sarcastically.

The ghost glanced at me, pulling his sunglasses down to look at me with his electric green eyes, one eyebrow raised. "She ain't that famous, but you sure are. Sam, right? Phantom's backup singer?"

"Yup," Danny said, snaking his arm over my shoulders. "She's _my_ backup singer." I frowned up at the protective sound of his voice, but didn't shrug off the arm. It was nice and cool in the still-simmering air. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

"Dude," the ghost laughed, pushing his sunglasses back to their rightful place. "I ain't here to mess up anybody's solos, alright?" He backed up. "I'm glad you came. We'll have fun. Concert starts at sundown." One last grin, white teeth flashing, and he was gone.

"See? Fun."

I let myself have one last sarcastic eye roll as I finally pushed the arm off of me. "I'm going wading until the party starts, okay?" I sauntered across the warm beach, pausing only long enough to yank my shoes off.

The cool water was pleasant on my toes. I smiled as the waves lapped at my ankles and splashed all the way up to my knees. Holding my skirt up a bit, I slid deeper into the surf, smiling at the tickling feeling of the sand being yanked out from around my feet by the undertow.

"So… is this fun?" Danny said softly as he appeared beside me. He was back in his human guise, shoes gone and the bottoms of his shorts already soaked.

I ignored him, digging my toes into the soft sand, letting the ocean waves bury my feet. I let him stew in his silence for a few minutes, enjoying the fiery sunset. "It's called wading, Danny. There isn't really any other way to do it."

"But you can't see any of the pretty fish," he muttered.

"Yeah? How would _you _suggest we see the 'pretty fish' without going swimming?"

Danny's hand wrapped around mine, and then my feet were suddenly sucked out of the sand. "Ah!" I yelped, grabbing onto his shoulder. "What did you do?" Very carefully, I balanced _on top _of the water, the waves bucking me around like an earthquake.

"Levitation trick I picked up a couple weeks ago. This way, we can go out and see the fish," he said simply, starting to walk out into the ocean.

I stumbled behind him, gripping tightly onto his hand, tripping over the smaller swells. It was like walking on a waterbed, only bigger. "Slow down, numbskull," I hissed, finally figuring out it was easier to focus on the horizon than on my feet. He shot me a grin, but eased up the pace a bit. "So, where are these pretty fish of yours?"

"Look down."

I did, and gasped. The ocean floor spread out beneath me, brightly colored fish of all shapes and sizes ducking in and out of multicolored corals. Pulling Danny to a stop, I knelt down and watched, wonderstruck, as a huge crab scuttled across the life-filled ground.

He sat down on the swelling ocean, watching the fish swim. "Pretty," he murmured. I glanced up at him, surprised to see his eyes on me instead of on the fish.

"What?"

"Oh!" he stumbled, glancing around, "pretty… fish. Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, sending me a red-faced grin.

I was going to answer, but the gathering darkness was swirling around us and the band struck its opening few notes.

"Hello, Spring Breakers!" Ember's voice echoed around the cove above the haunting melody of the guitars. "Are you ready to _par-ty_?"

All the ghosts yelled and screamed in excitement, springing up into the air to form a small crowd around the band stand. I was shocked at the number of ghosts that had arrived – there must have been a hundred or more. Ember's band threw a few power chords into the air, jumping right into their first song.

"Hey," Danny laughed as we watched the spectral partiers begin dancing, "it's our song."

"_RemEmber_ is her _only_ song, Danny." I glared, getting to my feet. "And I wasn't aware we had a song."

"Like we have any other options? Come on, Tucker and you have a song. Why can't we?" He floated up into the air lotus-style before unknotting his legs and standing. "So? Do you want to dance?"

"Sure," I said, a bit red as he wrapped his hands around my waist. "It is a dance, I guess that's what we do here."

He smiled at me, his face as warm as mine. Suddenly he frowned, a ring of light passing over him. "It's not a ghost dance without the ghost, right?" he laughed, pulling me close and spinning slightly.

I laced my fingers behind his neck, grinning. "True," I said softly, letting myself give in to the music slightly and begin swaying.

Overhead, the ghosts cavorted and swirled, chasing each other across the sky in a supernatural ballet. They were without fear, without hesitation, as their elated glow lit up the night more than the rising full moon. Specters dove and rose, spun and twirled, raced into the ocean and back out – all in time to Ember's music.

It took a few songs, but I finally got up the nerve to say the question that had been in my head all night. "Do you…" I hesitated, embarrassed when he glanced at me. "Do you wish you were up there?"

He tipped his head to the side, a clear question in his electric eyes.

"It looks like fun," I said softly, backing as far from him as I could without letting go of his hand. Not because I wanted to hold onto him, but because I would have gone plunging into the ocean otherwise.

"Yeah," he said slowly, his forehead furrowing.

"And… no _human_ can do that."

His eyes flickered up to the party, his eyes still confused. "True…"

I hadn't expected to have to go this far – I had hoped he'd figure it out. Clueless indeed. "Look, I'm a human. You're a ghost…"

"Half-ghost," he interrupted.

"Half-ghost," I sighed. "You should go have some fun as a ghost too."

"But I am having fun," he said slowly.

I was silent, but started walking towards the beach. He came here to have fun; I wasn't going to take that away from him. He _had_ to have more fun up there than with me. I'm just Sam – a plain, unattractive Goth. "Sam," he said as I pulled him along. "Sam," he laughed again. "Wait." I stopped for a moment, glancing back at him. "True, I'd probably have more fun up there." His eyes were sparkling, like they did when he had some secret, but I really didn't care.

I wasn't going to tell him just how much that had hurt. Yanking him with me, I stormed towards the beach, refusing to look at him.

"Sam."

There was no way I was going to look at him. He'd melt me with that puppy-dog look of his.

"Sam."

No, no, no. I was just going to keep walking.

"Sam." He grabbed my hand tightly, spinning me around and pulling me in close. I'd forgotten how strong he was when he wanted to be. I stopped inches from him, my eyes level with his. "I'm not going to have any fun without you, you hear me? You're not going to skulk on some beach like a Goth with no friends, you're going to have fun with me." He smiled, leaning a bit closer, his nose almost touching mine. "Wanna try something new?" he asked, his forehead pressed against mine.

"What?" I asked breathlessly. His emerald eyes met mine, glittering with delight.

"Close your eyes," he whispered in my ear, leaning closer to me.

I shut my eyes, my breath catching in my throat. The chill of his phantom form slid over me like a cool breeze, ghost bumps racing up my arms and trickling down my back. I couldn't repress the shudder that slid through me as I felt his cold cheek graze mine. The butterflies in my stomach were dancing more wildly than any of the ghosts dancing around us.

"It's okay," he murmured, "you'll be fine."

"I know."

A small shock slid through my fingers, a numb feeling trailing up my arms like tiny fingers. I took a deep, trembling breath – and then an odd, dreamlike sensation washed over my entire body. Unconsciously I leaned closer into Danny, into the safety of his arms as I got used to the absolutely bizarre feeling. So light. So free. So…

My eyes flickered open, glancing around the beach over his shoulder. "Danny, what…" I stopped when he pulled away from me slightly, letting go of one hand. Just for a moment I stared down at the hand he had dropped. My skin was paler than ever, almost translucent, tipped in amethyst nails. I held my hand up, turning it over and over, blinking at the almost _glow_ it was giving off.

He chuckled softly, drawing my eyes off of the wonder of my hand to him. Pale skin stretched into one of his shy smiles, one of the ones that hardly anybody got to see – one that transformed his entire face. Holding up his free hand, sparkles of sapphire energy swirled and coalesced. Here we were, in the middle of a spectral party, and he was making a… mirror?

Still laughing slightly, he held out the shiny, flat, icy surface. It took some work, but I managed to tear my eyes away from his handsome smile. What I saw in the mirror took my breath away.

"You know, you're really beautiful like that," he whispered as I examined my reflection with growing shock. "It's only temporary – about a half hour – then you'll be back to normal."

I'm not really willing to admit _what_ I had been hoping for when Danny wanted to 'try something new' with me, but I can't safely say this wasn't it. As I ran my fingers through my amethyst hair and gazed into my electric jade eyes, my mouth fell open slightly. "You… you… you turned me into a ghost?" With that though, I glanced down, grinning at the black, green, and violet dress. Sleek and modern, it cascaded down from my hips with a simple flare, the bottom edge dagged and striking.

"Not quite," Danny laughed. "You should have seen Jazz when I accidentally did this to her last week. She flipped out; chased me all over Amity Park before it reversed itself. But she did promise to keep it a secret so I could surprise you. So, Sam Phantom, would you like to _really _dance?" He etched a cocky bow, his white hair flopping over into his eyes.

_Sam Phantom… _If I had a heart anymore, it would have skipped a beat at those simple words. _Oh, how I wish… _The mirror tumbled to into the ocean, the ice crackling when it hit the warm water. He glanced back up at me, a questioning look in his eyes, his stunning smile fading slightly. I could almost hear his thoughts; he was beginning to wonder if he had done the right thing. "Yes, Danny. I would love to dance."

His hands – which were no longer cold, I noticed – were back in mine. "Well," he said softly, "ghosts don't dance on the ground, you know." With that, he was pulling me up into the air.

My eyes widened as I felt my feet leaving the ground. "Danny!" I hissed as he brought me up into the middle of the swirling spirits. The beat of the music was intense up here, the pulse of it almost like my forgotten heartbeat. In the midst of the swirling colors, the rhythm was intoxicating. I rested my head against his shoulder, marveling at the feeling of air under my feet – a feeling that so matched my own.

He held me tightly for a moment. "You can do it, Sam," there was a laugh hidden in his voice. "It's just like breathing for a ghost."

"I'm not a ghost," I said simply, giving myself a perfect excuse to cling a little bit tighter.

"For the moment, you are," he chucked, easily pushing me away and holding me up with just his hands in mine. "You can't fall, Sam, trust me." His fingers loosened their grip. The only thing holding me to him was my own death grip on his hands.

Slowly, some smart part of my mind struggling against me the entire way, I pulled one hand out of his. Without taking my eyes off of his, I let go… and didn't fall. A stunned, wonder-filled smile fought its way onto my face. I was _floating_.

I glanced over at the band, the guitarist shooting me a smile and a quick thumbs-up. _Dance_, he mouthed at me, striking a few chords and sending the band into a new song. As the cadence of the music thrummed through me, set to the time of the crashing waves, I settled my eyes on Danny, drifting over next to him. "Well?" I said with an arched eyebrow.

"Well what?" he asked, his voice soft, almost breathless.

"Aren't we going to dance?"

The happy smile that slid onto his face at my question made my stomach swirl. He picked up one of my hands, giving me another bow and grazing his lips on the back of my hand. "Yes, mi'lady. So you have wished it…"

Danny pulled me closer for a moment, his hands settling on my waist. My own hands had no problem lacing behind his neck, entangling in his snowy hair. Music swirled around us, chased through us, danced with us – and we were lost to the rhythm under the full moon.

I let my eyes fall closed, trusting to the strong feel of his hands as we twirled and danced to the enthralling beat. Time seemed to suspend. There was nothing to the world but his light touch on my waist and the pulsing sounds around us. Closer we drifted, noses all but touching if I would have dared to open my eyes. I could smell the soft scent of him, feel his cool breath as it puffed against my cheek. But I was afraid to break the spell… afraid to wake up…

"Sam, open your eyes," he whispered just loud enough to be heard over the music. It helped that he was close enough that his breath tickled my ear as he spoke.

Dizzily, intoxicated, my eyes opened to his command. All around, spirits twirled and danced, a watercolor wash behind his head. I had no idea what to say. Everything was bubbling up inside of me as I gazed at him, my heart melting. "Danny," I murmured, all of my emotions, all my thoughts wrapped up in that single word.

"You sure are in _high spirits_," he said, his smile infectious, "but do you think you can _really _dance with me?"

I laughed softly, ignoring the horrible pun, shaking my head. "You think I can pull that off?" I glanced pointedly around at the ghosts that were spinning and chasing each other around the sky.

"Sam," he said, all seriousness in his voice and lips, but his luminous eyes gave his true bubbling happiness away like two small lanterns, "you can do anything."

Rolling my eyes, I drifted a bit farther away, holding out one hand. "All right, Ghost Boy, let's _really _dance. But keep it slow for a bit, okay?"

"Deal," he chuckled as he grabbed my hand and dragged me into a crazy upwards spiral.

A tiny scream leaked out of my throat as my fingers clamped tighter onto his wrist. Then I felt it: a swirl of power deep inside of me, a bit of confidence, a twinge of pure exhilaration. _I'm a ghost – nothing can hurt me. _Letting my scream twist into an excited laugh, I pushed myself to fly a bit faster. I caught up to the speeding boy, delighting in the surprise in his eyes, before passing him by and then pulling him into a sudden dive.

As the ground sped towards us, Danny threw us into a spin, making the ground swirl giddily overhead. The music crescendoed, the pulse of the music driving the insane dance. A downbeat throbbed through the wave-washed beach, the band's voices rising into the climax of the song. Danny let go of one of my hands, his eyes gleaming into mine for a just a moment before he twirled me sharply, sending me spinning off to the side into nothingness.

Before I could stop myself, before I could do more than yell in surprise, I felt wiry arms circle around me, stopping my wild spin. I rested against my savior's chest for a moment, my eyes closed, confident in the identity of my hero. The fact that he was chuckling softly in a very familiar voice helped. A bubble of giddy laughter trickled up, snaking out from between my lips as I drifted in his arms.

_This is perfect_. _Nothing could ruin this… _I was perfectly content just to be there. "Danny," I whispered as the song began to die away, the manic spectral energy fading away, "I…"

The music suddenly screeched to a halt, the entire clearing falling into an abrupt silence. I felt Danny stiffen and tighten his arms protectively around me. Deep down inside of me, something froze; a horrible feeling gripped at me. My eyes opened, scanning the ground for the sign of the problem. Every ghost was holding perfectly still, their eyes all focused on the intruder into their revelry. Danny hissed, "Vlad."

Sure enough, Plasmius was hovering at the edge of the beach, his obsessed eyes glowing red in the moonlit night. The elder halfa made no move to join the party, seemingly content to just hover and glower.

"Stay here," Danny murmured, pushing me away gently and diving towards the ground.

I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering slightly at his sudden departure. "Be careful," I breathed.

"Go away, Plasmius," Danny ordered, coming to a stop before the other ghost. "You're not welcome here."

"Daniel," he sneered in return, his voice making the frozen fingers inside of me clench, "why do you think I would listen to _you_?"

Danny's boots hit the ground, his hands still loose at his sides. "You're not welcome," he repeated simply, his eyes never leaving Vlad's. "Go away."

Plasmius floated a few feet closer, reddish energy flaring around him, singing the sea grass. "Do you think you can _make _me leave?" he snarled.

"No," Danny shook his head, then sighed. "I refuse to fight you here, Plasmius. Just leave, please. We can fight later."

"I'm not going to leave until I get what I want!"

"And what's that?" Danny's voice was calm and confident, and I couldn't stop the smile that crossed my face. "My mother isn't here, and I think we killed the 'son' idea years ago."

A hand touched my shoulder. "Are you okay?" the guitarist whispered as he drifted next to me, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze. He shot me a smile, tossing his overlong hair out of his eyes. "Phantom'll be fine."

"I know," I murmured, unwilling to look away from the scene unfolding underneath my feet.

Danny was laughing, his soft voice echoing oddly in the perfectly silent clearing. "You don't even know _what _you want anymore, do you Plasmius? Go away."

I watched with growing horror as Vlad's eyes grew brighter and brighter, blood-like energy dripping from his hands. "Insolent child," the furious ghost hissed, "how _dare _you speak to me like that?"

Deadly silence stretched between the two, Danny's growing smile spurning Vlad's anger. "I think I know what you want," Danny said quietly, "and it's something you can never have it."

"Silence!" Vlad screamed, his hand coming up. A blast of red power sliced through the night with a loud fizzle, tossing the unprepared Danny violently to the ground.

I was kneeling next to Danny's body before he had even come to a stop, rolling against my legs. His eyes were closed in pain, a large burn on his side. "Danny?" I breathed, leaning over him. Eyes flickered for a second, his mouth moved, muttering something I couldn't hear.

"Who's this?" Vlad chuckled from his place at the edge of the clearing. "Daniel, are you cheating on that girlfriend of yours?"

My head came up slowly, my eyes burning. "You…" I snarled, "you… _fruitloop_." Something cool and fluid wrapped soothingly around my fingers as my hands formed into fists. It felt somewhat like moving my hands through cold soup. I glanced down just long to see the emerald energy flaring around my hands before I fixed my eyes back on Vlad. "I'm going to i _shred /i _you, you sick excuse for a half-human."

I straightened, my hand coming up to figure out how to _blast _the life out of this demon when it finally happened. Power faded, the dream-like state leaking out of my body. A ring of light appeared around my wrist, expanding and encompassing me in its tingly, cool energy. When the glow vanished, I was left. Human skin tipped with Gothic-black fingernails. My hand fell back to my side, my righteous fury evaporating, leaving behind a simmering anger I could do nothing with.

Fortunately, Vlad was taking this transformation worse than I was. "What?" the man rasped, drifting backwards a bit. "How?" He was still staring at me, eyes wide, when a bluish light enveloped him and he vanished.

Blinking in surprise, I glanced down at Danny, who was sitting up and smiling at me. "You looked positively evil right then," he said slowly, his grin expanding. "I always knew you had it in you."

"How?" I glanced from him to where Vlad had vanished – just in time to see Danny walk out of the woods that edged the beach, Fenton Thermos in hand.

"Doppelganger," Danny chuckled, getting to his feet and sliding his arm around my waist. "It took me _weeks _to come up with that plan but it came in handy, huh?" My Danny held out his free hand to grab the Thermos before the clone merged back with him. "And, I got him out of the way _and _keep the peace pact. Neat, huh?" He shot me a thousand-watt smile.

I shook my head, leaning a bit into him. "You're getting too smart for you own good, Ghost Boy."

"Let me have that," the band's guitarist said, drifting down and gesturing to the Thermos. "We'll let him go at the end of the party."

Danny tossed it to him, turning back to me, smile fading at the confusion that was still tracing through my eyes. "What?"

"What was wrong with Vlad?" I couldn't just drop it, I needed to know.

"Oh… I think he was just jealous."

"Jealous? Of who?"

His intoxicating smile swirled back into existence as he pulled me back onto the beach, the chill water lapping at my bare feet. "Me," he laughed. "I've got everything he ever wanted." I stared up into his sparkling electric eyes for a moment in confusion. "Come on, Sammy. Let's dance."

"But there's no music, Danny," I whispered, unable to stop my own grin at his bubbling happiness, my mind dismissing the puzzle for the moment.

His emerald eyes shone in the dim light, cheerfulness flowing almost tangibly off of him. He picked up one of my hands, pulling me closer. "Since when have I ever needed music to dance with you?"

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, we danced in the light of moon…


	11. Peter Pan

The boy paced back and forth, his hair flickering from black to white and back.

"Sit down."

He shook his head, glancing up at Teacher with eyes that drifted uncontrollably between sky blue and emerald green. "No, no," he whispered quietly.

"Yes, please, sit down."

Fingers rubbed together as he walked, stopping inches from the wall and shaking his head frantically. "No. Can't sit down."

"You need to read." Teacher got out of her chair and walked up to the boy, placing her arm around his shoulders and giving him a small squeeze. For a moment her fingers slid through his arm as he lost his tenuous hold on tangibility. "You need to learn."

"Can't," he muttered. Tears sparkled in colorful eyes that swirled anxiously between ghost and human. "Can't sit down."

She smiled, catching one of his tears on her finger and turning him to face her. "We got you a special chair, remember? You won't fall through this one."

"No," he moaned dejectedly, refusing to look at her as his skin gained an impossibly pale glow. "Please. Leave me alone."

She smiled at him, heading back over to the table to drop back into her chair and picking up the small book. "Once you learn, okay? Come read for me."

The boy's feet left the ground and he crossed his legs. Hovering in mid-air, he watched curiously as Teacher paged through the book and found the spot where they had left off last time. For some reason, he always ended up doing what Teacher wanted him to do, but he wasn't sure why. Before he could make up his mind whether or not to do as she had asked, he suddenly crashed to the ground as his ability to fly vanished from his shaky grasp.

Teacher jumped out of her chair and was by his side by the time he rolled over with a groan. She smiled at him when she found out he was fine, ruffling his black (then white) hair and brushing her own black locks over her shoulder. "Come read, Danny."

"Can't," the boy said softly. "Don't remember."

"I'm here to help you." She leaned over him, letting her infectious grin fill his vision. "I'm always here to help you. I always have, and I always will."

He silently rolled to his feet and drifted over to the table, having completely forgotten his earlier desire not to read. About half-way there, he vanished from view, only reappearing once he was seated. He picked up the book and gazed down at the pictures. Just before the book slipped through his intangible fingers and fluttered to the ground, he looked up at Teacher with a pleading look. "Read?"

She stooped to pick up the fallen book and settled down into her own chair, easily finding the lost page. "See, Danny? This is where we stopped yesterday. We were reading all about Peter asking Wendy for his shadow back."

"Who?" he whispered. His nose almost brushed the page as he stared at the beautifully painted picture of a flying boy. "He's flying."

"That's Peter, remember? And yes, he's like you. He can fly." Teacher turned backwards a page, showing the boy a picture of a small faerie. "He's got Tinkerbell with him to keep him out of trouble, just like your sister comes here to keep you out of trouble."

Eyes jumped from the book to Teacher's face, flickering impossibly quickly between green and blue. "Peter no fall."

She smiled, her own violet eyes glittering. "That's right, Danny. Peter doesn't fall, and you won't either someday."

Danny moved his chair a little closer to the table, resting his elbows on the table and cupping his chin with his hands. One of his elbows fell through the table, but he pulled it back out and focused on the book. "Read, Teacher. Please."

Teacher read. "'It wouldn't be so bad,' Peter said definitely, 'if my shadow didn't keep running off. It needs to be stuck on good.' 'But Boy,' Wendy replied, 'you can't stick on a shadow with a bar of soap.' 'You can't?' Peter asked. Wendy smiled. 'It needs to be sewn on.'" Teacher took a breath to keep reading, but Danny muttered something. "What was that, Danny?"

He shook his head, his ever-changing eyes fixing on blue for a moment, confusion sparkling in his gaze. "Johnny wouldn't sew on his shadow."

Teacher gasped, leaning closer to him. "Danny?" she said with a hopeful note in her voice.

His eyes lost their focus and he flickered invisible. "Read?" his voice asked from thin air, not understanding or really remembering what had just happened. Then, just as suddenly as he was gone, he was back.

Struggling to keep the tears from her eyes, Teacher nodded and blinked down at the words. "'Won't that hurt?' Peter asked. Wendy just shook her head, reaching into her mother's desk to pull out the darning needle. 'Not at all, Boy. Now come here.'"

She paused her reading, glancing down at the boy's entranced face with a smile. "She's going to fix her friend, Danny."

"What next?" Danny whispered. He took the book out of Teacher's hands and gazed down at the pictures, his eyes shifting with delight.

"You tell me," Teacher said softly. "What happens to the boy that'll never grow up?"

He looked at her curiously through his bangs. "Read, please," he said and handed the book back to her.

Teacher smiled. "You need a haircut, clueless one." She reached out and pushed the long hair out of his eyes, her fingers resting on the long scar on his forehead for a moment. "You haven't aged a day since that accident, and yet you always need a haircut. Explain to me that one."

"Read?" Danny asked again, tapping the book with his finger.

"Yes, yes, oh Great One. I will read." She stood up and mockingly bowed to the boy, causing him to laugh. "And you will get better, right?"

His blue-green-blue eyes were still laughing when she sank back into her chair and held the book so he could see the pictures. As she continued to read the same story that she had been reading (and re-reading) every single day for the past ten years, Danny leaned against her side. She wrapped her free hand around his shoulders and smiled down at him. "'What's it like to fly, Peter?' Wendy asked. Peter grinned and held out his arms. 'It's better than anything, Wendy. Come on, you can fly with me.'"

* * *

"I saw him for a moment," Teacher said softly as she closed the door behind her. She picked up the clipboard and added a few notes to the bottom of the chart. "He remembered Johnny 13."

"He's not going to get better," the doctor said, dropping a hand comfortingly onto her back. "It's been almost ten years since he got into that accident."

"People recover from head injuries." She shook the hand off of her back, annoyed at the familiar gesture.

"Sam…" The doctor sighed and shook his head. "We can't figure out why he still looks like he's sixteen when he's almost twenty-six. We don't know anything about these ghost powers of his, much less what state his mind is in. We have no idea what happened in that accident." He picked the clipboard out of her hands and stared at it. "He hasn't gotten _anywhere_ in years. He's not going to get better."

"Yes, he will."

The doctor bit his lip, finally asking a question that had been bugging him for awhile. "Why do you keep reading him the same book? He'll never remember it, and it's got to be boring for you."

"It's his favorite book," Sam said, her eyes narrowing. "He never likes it when I read other books. And it's a great metaphor for his life – maybe one of these days one of the lessons will actually sink in. _And_ it's not really your business what I read to my friend… now is it."

He held up his free hand in mock surrender. "Go ahead. I've done everything for Danny that I can do. Now it's just a waiting game."

"Wait and see; he _will_ fly again."

He watched the young woman stalk up the hall towards the exit. Once she had turned the corner, he checked to make sure she had locked the door before setting the clipboard back in its holder.

* * *

In the small room, the boy sank down and pressed his back against the wall, wondering when Teacher would be coming back. She always read the most wonderful stories.

But then his hand tingled as it became intangible, thoughts slipped from his mind, and he forgot all about the boy who would never grow up.


	12. Fentonless 1 (Nalon's Corn Field, 1974)

Amity Park was a small, quiet town in lower Michigan near the shore of Lake Eerie with really nothing to call its own. No famous stars, no sports teams... not even a Spelling Bee champion. The only thing they could really say that was 'neat' about their town was that they shared a name with the famous Amityville Horror.

The town's sign proudly proclaimed to any cheery visitors that it was "A Nice Place to Live." Little did the twelve-thousand people in the town know that it was about to change...

The year was 1974, and the veil that seperated the Human world from the Ghost Zone was beginning to weaken. As it failed, paranormal creatures of every size, shape, and disposition suddenly found it easier than ever to journey to the land of the living.

Without anything or anybody to stop them, Amity Park was ripe for their spectral picking.

And so began the legend of Amity Park...

* * *

The mist swirled opaquely between the long rows of corn. A slim crescent moon – nearly invisible and hidden amongst the high, faint clouds – shone over the droplets of water, giving them a bluish-silver glow. The long leaves of the corn rustled in the soft breeze, unheard except for by the buzzing insects and one lonely grey fox hunting for lost mice along the edges of the field.

There was, however, a slight interruption to the chill, quiet night. As silent and cold as the twilit world, a spot of cold light hovered and dipped in little twirls. Diving between the rows of corn, it passed straight through the tall stalks without ruffling the leaves. Shooting straight up into the sky, the green-white sphere floated in place for a moment, spinning like a crazy top before slicing back and forth across the starless sky.

A crunch of fallen leaves echoed in the tranquil night, an oppressive weight materializing in the air. The light shivered and darted back and forth anxiously, searching before dropping back into the relative safety of the cornfield. Dipping and bobbing, still watching and waiting, the flicker darted just below the silken tops of the plants. It raced between the rows… but was unable to lose the hidden stalker.

A flare of light, a hint of cool laughter, and the ball of light collapsed onto the ground. Its supernatural glow faded away as the mysterious creature slipped into unconsciousness, revealing a small form. Clothed in simple pants and an over-large shirt, a tiny creature was left lying on the floor, arms and legs spread and relaxed despite the freezing dew that was beginning to coat the ground. Sprouting from its back were two sets of dragonfly-like wings that glittered and glistened in the faint glow of the moon.

Striding confidently through the stalks of corn, a hunter leaned down to pick up the minute creature. Metallic gloves handled the spectral faerie carefully. Holding it up to his emerald green eyes, he examined his prey for a few moments before crushing its skull between his fingers with an audible pop. Ignoring the dripping ooze and bits of loose flesh now splattered over his silvery hand, he dropped the tiny corpse unceremoniously into a pouch on his belt. And then he was gone as quickly as he had arrived, vanishing into thin air.

The field was silent once more. Even the hungry grey fox knew to stay away from the carefully plowed rows of corn tonight. This was Amity Park, after all, and one does not live long by ignoring the paranormal.

* * *

Hours later, the deathly silence of the haunted corn was broken once more. The sputtering roar of the motor could be heard long before the headlights of a car came into view. An outdated, cherry-red mustang with yellow-orange flames fishtailed over a hill, skidding to a stop next to the endless rows of corn. The ancient engine rattled once more before coughing itself to a stop.

Kicking open the driver's door, a young teenage male jumped out of the car and surveyed the desolate field. "Perfect!" he shouted to his passenger, lugging a large sound system and a blanket out of the back seat. "Come on… a corn field in the dark? You said I got to pick the next place."

"Fine," the young woman said as she slammed her door shut, tugging a thin sweater around her body. "But does it have to be so cold?"

"You want me to change the temperature?" he asked, nudging the back door shut. "That, I'm more than willing to do, Lizzie." The young man grinned at her over the top of the car, his eyes drifting over the parts of her body that he could see. Then he started for the cornfield, the stereo and blanket bundled under one arm.

She smiled, but her platform heels didn't move away from the car. "Come on, Eddie, it's… creepy here. Let's go back to my place."

"Your parents are there and that ruins all the fun," he called over his shoulder, pausing just before the thick rows of corn. "We'll be warmer in a minute, you know. Come on, scaredy-cat. I'll protect you."

Glancing over her shoulder at the darkened road, Lizzie sidled over to the side of the road and picked her way through the shadowed culvert. When she reached Eddie's side, he vanished into the corn with a crackle of leaves. The young woman stared around her, wide eyes flickering from dark spot to darker spot in the shadows of the night. "Eddie," she hissed. "I'm…" she trailed off, shivering, goose bumps springing into life on her arms. "Eddie!"

Her hair moved, brushing lightly against her bare neck, a cold breath tickled in her ear, and a chill, lifeless hand whispered against her cheek. She spun, breathing hard, eyes straining in the twilight. "That's not funny," she muttered. "Eddie!"

The radio flickered to life, static sizzling through the night. It was tuned to a hit station – the blazing sounds of _The Locomotion_ suddenly chasing away the frosty shadows. "Come on, come on… and do the Locomotion with me!" Eddie's voice drifted over the stalks, cracking on the high notes.

Lizzie shot one last glance at the relative safety of the ancient red Mustang before surrendering to her boyfriend's singing and diving into the field. Corn batted at her head and snagged her hair, the rough leaves pulled at her knitted sweater. At each furrow she paused, glancing down the dark row before plunging through the next.

"Eddie!" she called when she finally caught sight of the stereo's lights. She stumbled down the row, ducking under a few dangling corncobs. "Eddie?"

The blanket was spread out between the narrow furrows, the edges turned under and rumpled. Flickering lines of light danced on the radio as the song continued without its impromptu backup singer – a brown-haired boy that was nowhere to be seen.

She came to a stop at the edge of the blanket, an eyebrow raised. "Oh, you want to play it that way, do you?" she whispered, a small smile on her face. "Eddie!" she cried, fake panic coloring her voice. "Eddieeeeeee! I'm so scared; you've left me alone in the old haunted cornfield at night! The evil ghosts will come and get me!" Clasping her hands under her chin, she tried to sound helpless. "Rescue me, please?"

Seconds passed. The quiet field echoed her breathing back at her. She waited patiently, a half-smile on her face, waiting to be 'rescued' and for her hero to get the reward he deserved. But yet nobody strode out of the abyss to 'protect' her. "Eddie?" she asked, twisting around and glancing behind her. Only darkness waited for her there. No rustling leaves, no soft laughter, no gentle hands. Her heart started to beat a bit harder, her eyes carefully searching the corn she could see. No one. "Eddie?" This time, a bit of real fear made her voice quiver. "Eddie, stop this. I don't want to fool around anymore – I want to go home."

Still nothing. "Eddie?"

A scream ripped through the field. Pain and terror curled and wove through the shriek before it abruptly cut off. Lizzie held perfectly still, her blue eyes wide and staring off in the direction of the eerie sound. "Eddie?" she mouthed.

"Eddie?" a voice hissed behind her. It echoed darkly, every hair on her body standing on end, her stomach jumping into her throat at its malicious sound. "Why in the world would you want a weakling named Eddie?"

Lizzie's mouth moved, sounds refusing to come out. Her brain stopped working as a frozen breeze blew through her and a cold breath wafted against the back of her neck. A hand – colder than death – touched her shoulder and trailed down her spine to rest at the small of her back.

"Turn around, girl," the presence commanded.

She tried to shake her head, but she was trembling so hard it was impossible to tell if she actually had.

The owner of the voice stepped up beside her, its body fitting along side hers. The cold hand drifted up to wrap securely around her shoulders and tuck her in closer. "Well then, I'll come to you," the voice chuckled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could just see the thing that was holding her in its vise-like grip. Glinting metallically in the moonlight, the man was a head and shoulders taller than her. Glowing, green hair blazed around its head mohawk-style, malicious emerald eyes gazed straight ahead. A parody of a smile played across his face when he noticed her attention. "You don't need to worry, you're pretty," he soothed, his eyes dangerously hungry.

Lizzie blinked, her petrified legs refusing to move, as the luminous creature leaned closer and pressed his cold, metal lips to hers. Startled by the sudden contact, she screamed and pushed out of the specter's arms. "Stay away from me!" she shrieked, backing away from the tall man's thunderous expression. "EDDIE!"

"Here," he said gruffly, taking a sack from beside him on the ground and opening it. "You want your precious Eddie so badly? You can have him." The man pulled out something roughly the size of a basketball and lobbed it towards her. Without thinking, she snagged it out of the air.

Warm liquid splattered into her face and instantly coated her hands as it oozed out of the object. She dug her fingers into the soft fur that seemed to cover the thing, refusing to look down. She _knew_ what it was. Yet her eyes disobeyed her direct orders and glanced down into the terrified expression of the 'ball' she had caught. Eddie's face looked up at her, his beautiful eyes having been torn from their sockets, his mouth frozen forever in a painful scream.

Unable to do make a sound, she dropped Eddie's severed head onto the blanket he had spread out and looked back up. Her blood-covered hands stayed out in front of her, trembling and cold. The murderer, the hunter, the _ghost_ was suddenly inches from her, staring at her with his gleaming, dead eyes.

"He wasn't much for prey," the man whispered, grabbing her bloody hand and pulling it up to his face. He carefully licked one of her fingers, his metallic tongue cool and smooth. Smacking his lips, he seemed to taste the blood, sampling it like fine wine. "Weak blood," he qualified, "easily scared." Sticking another of her fingers into his mouth, he sucked off all the blood before letting her yank her hand free. "Still good, though. Not high quality, but good."

"Stay away from me," Lizzie finally managed to rasp, hugging her hand to her breast. Unsteady legs carried her backwards away from his insane eyes.

"I wonder what _you_ taste like." The ghost look a step forwards, matching her movements step for step. "Would you mind if I had a taste?"

Lizzie twirled on her heel and ran. Ducking, weaving, panting, she raced down the row, dodging haphazardly through the corn. Within fifty feet, she had lost both of her shoes and was wincing every time a foot landed on a sharp rock. Incapable of screaming at the moment, her breath caught in her throat and rasped in her chest, and all she could do was run.

She stumbled through one last row of shadowed corn, her eyes fruitlessly searching the bluish mist that surrounded her. As the deepest part of the morning began to fade, the clinging fog was growing thicker. Trembling, she dropped to her knees, her wide eyes trying to look everywhere at once. "Where is…"

"I have an excellent place for your skull," the voice whispered, twin emerald lanterns gazing at her through a parting in the cornrow before her, "on my mantle."

Tripping over her own feet in a desperate attempt to get up, Lizzie stumbled and fell, her body knocking over several stalks of corn, her breath getting knocked out of her.

"I also have this growing desire to have a tetherball," the ghost continued, stepping through the corn without making a noise. "Your head might be good for that too." He chuckled as he stepped over her prone body, kneeling over her, strong legs clenching around her waist. "Although…" one frigid finger reached out and trailed over her face, "there are _other_ uses for one such as yourself." His finger traced down her cheek, brushing against her lips. It kept going, drawing a circle over her quivering throat before going lower still. His chill hand cupped one of her breasts as he leaned down to steal another kiss.

"BASTARD!" she screamed as she suddenly found her voice, her hand slapping him. "Get off of me!"

He snarled, snatching her offending hand out of the air before it could hit more than once. "Fine, you have chosen your fate, prey." His metallic arm moved her hand slowly and surely towards his face. "I will hunt you, and you will run."

"Get off of me," Lizzie yelled again, tossing her head and pushing against his immovable legs.

"Your boyfriend wasn't much of a hunt after I stole his eyes," the ghost continued conversationally. "They didn't even taste good. But you… you have a spirit inside of you. I bet you taste better." He was studying her blood-covered hand carefully. "I'd rather not take your eyes. No, that would detract from the hunt. You humans are so fragile… so I think I'll taste something else." Silvery fingers slowly bent over every one of her digits except for her pinky finger. "Hmmm…" he licked off the remainder of Eddie's blood, "wouldn't want to spoil it."

"Stop," she whimpered, pulling on her hand – but his vise-like grip was inhuman and unstoppable.

Her finger was wet and cold when he placed it back in his mouth. Insane, angered eyes snapped to her terrified ones as his robotic teeth began to clamp down. Molecule by molecule, cell by cell, tendon by tendon, the hunter's teeth burrowed through her skin just below her second knuckle. The snap of bone went unheard over her shrieks of agony. When he finally released her hand, she cradled her remaining four fingers to her chest and screamed, continuing to pummel the ghost with her good hand.

He just sat there, slowly chewing his morsel, ignoring the crimson blood that dripped down his chin and splattered on the girl's face. He barely even felt her hand as it hit his metal chest and stomach. He was too busy. "Good," he mumbled around the crunchy bits of bone, "strong-willed and defiant. You'll make good prey."

Suddenly he was standing, dragging the still sobbing Lizzie to her feet. Her hair was a mess, her feet were bleeding, her hand was raining blood with every beat of her heart, and her eyes were wild with terror and pain. "No," she cried, her unsteady legs barely supporting her weight.

"Run, prey," the hunter-ghost hissed, giving her a push, "I'll even give you a head start."

She had no choice, not really. Her feet were moving before her head had gotten around to the idea of running. Choking on her own tears, her breath came hard and fast as she stumbled through the field. Holes and tiny mounds sent her tumbling to the ground more than once as she struggled to get out of the field. "The car," she panted, "where's the car?"

Something caught up her foot and she went stumbling into a mud puddle. A string attached to the object had wrapped around her ankle as she fell. She reached up with shaking fingers to untangle it before she realized what it was.

A shoe. A tennis shoe.

She picked it up with her unhurt hand, but almost instantly dropped it, barely stifling her shriek of horror. The shoe wasn't empty. The bloody remains of Eddie's foot were still inside. "Eddie," she whispered – an almost prayer – trying to get back onto her feet. She was almost there when her eyes finally took in what else was in the small clearing.

Shreds of clothes clung to the rough corn leaves. Bright-red, glistening gobs of flesh were scattered on the floor. Just a few inches from her foot was a hunk of crimson that looked suspiciously like a heart.

Despite her best attempts at staying quiet, the scream wrenched itself from her throat. She was sitting _inside_ of Eddie.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the hunter murmured, appearing beside her. "Did you want some? I think I have an eye left." He held out a hand, the green-eyed orb staring up at her, strings of bloody nerves dangling off the side of his hand. "Here." With a vicious grin, he tossed the eye in her direction. It smacked her staring face and bounced off, leaving a bloody imprint behind.

Her brain shut down. Without thought, she was up and moving, both hands batting corn out of the way. Two breaths and she was miraculously out of the cornfield, the cherry-red Mustang only a hundred yards away. Unaware of her continuous keening, she scrambled forwards, her eyes only for the car.

When she was ten yards away from the car, the hunter stalked out of the cornfield. "I am the Ghost Zone's greatest predator."

Five yards to go and the hunter landed next to her, his eyes cold and dead in the burgeoning sunlight. "You can't escape me."

Two yards to go and his supernaturally strong hand gripped her neck. "I win, prey."

"No." she cried, her nine fingers reaching desperately for the car's handle. One hand curled around the handle…

And she was ripped to shreds.

* * *

When the police arrived, there really wasn't anything left of Elizabeth Lancer or Edward Carlisle. Although the official reports stated that the investigation was still open and that no probable cause had been found for their deaths, rumors circulated like horse flies. Coroners whispered about how there just wasn't enough _remaining_ to have been two people. Police murmured about the mysterious lack of footprints or suspects. Everybody was muttering about the teeth marks. Rumor had it that the two teenagers had been _eaten_… eaten by something not quite natural.

But nothing could top the one reporter that managed to snap a picture of a four-fingered hand that, even though it had lost its arm, was still clinging desperately to the car's door handle.

And so the legend of Amity Park began to grow…


	13. Fentonless 2 (Tyler's Deli and Pan Bakery, 1976)

Amity Park was a small, quiet town in lower Michigan near the shore of Lake Eerie with really nothing to call its own. No famous stars, no sports teams... not even a Spelling Bee champion. The only thing they could really say that was 'neat' about their town was that they shared a name with the famous Amityville Horror.

The town's sign proudly proclaimed to any cheery visitors that it was "A Nice Place to Live." Little did the twelve-thousand people in the town know that it was about to change...

The year was 1974, and the veil that separated the Human world from the Ghost Zone was beginning to weaken. As it failed, paranormal creatures of every size, shape, and disposition suddenly found it easier than ever to journey to the land of the living.

Without anything or anybody to stop them, Amity Park was ripe for their spectral picking.

And so began the legend of Amity Park...

Monday morning was still a ways from breaking bright and clear when the employees of _Tyler's Deli and Pan Bakery_ (since 1881) gathered, ready to start their day. There were donuts to make, bread to kneed, ingredients to measure, and cases of cheeses and meats to inventory. Laughing and joking with each other as they entered the store, the half-dozen employees clocked in and headed to the back to start their day.

It was a young man by the name of Maurice Foley who first discovered what had happened after the store had closed on Sunday night. He stood in the storeroom, scratching his head in confusion. The storeroom was normally carefully organized; deli stuff on one side, bakery stuff on the other. Only today…

Every box had been moved. They were now in order from largest to smallest, perfectly stacked along one wall.

The employees of _Tyler's Deli and Pan Bakery_ (since 1881) thought it was a funny hoax. Chuckling and teasing each other to try and figure out who was behind the 'mysterious' movement of the boxes, they quickly restored order to the storeroom. By the time the store opened an hour later, the incident had already been pushed from their minds.

Tuesday morning was a bit different. When the morning employees stepped into the store, flickering on the lights, their expressions were less than happy. The store front was a disaster. Bags of flour, pounds of sugar, stacks of trays, napkins, gloves, and other goods were scattered along the counter and floor. Hundreds of dollars worth of inventory had been destroyed. And back in the storeroom?

Every box had been emptied of its contents. The empty containers were neatly stacked, in order from largest to smallest, along one wall of the room.

Scowling at each other, muttering dark threats about what would happen when the 'prankster' was caught, the employees quickly cleaned up the store, salvaging what they could. The store had to open late, and the boss – Mr. Tyler Donough himself – personally gave a speech carefully detailing what would happen should this ever happen again.

That night, every employee went home, satisfied that the store would be in good order when they arrived at work on Wednesday.

Mr. Tyler was present the next morning to unlock the store. The employees gathered together, trying to see into the darkened windows. He pushed open the door, listening the tiny bell tinkle happily, flicked on the lights… and everybody stopped, stunned.

The nearly 100-year-old stained-glass counter had been smashed into tiny fragments that littered the floor. Super-sharp deli knives had been driven into the wooden walls. Bags of flour and sugar had been torn open and their snowy contents scattered along every surface. The bakery kitchen and deli area were in no better shape – racks overturned, bowls and pans dented and tossed haphazardly around the store, expensive and extremely heavy appliances turned into their sides.

Only one room in the entire store was in some semblance of order: the storeroom.

Every box – once again emptied – was stacked, from largest to smallest, along one wall. All the boxes that had been broken down and set aside to recycle yesterday had been carefully restored to their original form and had been added back into the stacks.

Having to close _Tyler's Deli and Pan Bakery_ (since 1881) for the first time in nearly twenty years, Mr. Tyler was incensed. He called the police, who set about scratching their heads in confusion. There was no sign of forced entry, no plausible cause for the destruction. Many of the knives had been driven through inches of thick wood and their tips lodged into the cement stucco of the outside walls… an almost inhuman feat. Stoves and meat slicers that were too heavy for people to lift had been flipped casually without waking the family that lived next door.

With a seemingly insolvable mystery on their hands, the Amity Park police force called in a pair of detectives from Chicago – the same pair that had failed to solve the Lancer/Carlisle murder nearly two years earlier. They would be in Amity Park first thing in the morning. The store wasn't to be touched until they arrived.

But, as Mr. Tyler explained to his wife on that fateful Wednesday, he was not going to let any future culprits go without any sort of punishment. After an afternoon of whirlwind shopping, _Tyler's Deli and Pan Bakery_ (since 1881) had the honor of becoming the first store in Amity Park to possess video cameras. One camera was fixed into the corner of the store front, the other positioned so that it would capture most of the bakery kitchen and the entry to the storeroom.

He carefully set a television on the floor of his store, hooking up the two cameras to record for the night. Then, just to make sure that nothing catastrophic happened to his store overnight, Mr. Tyler made a quick trip home to grab a sleeping bag, a flashlight, his Ruger Blackhawk 6-shot revolver, and a few bags of chips. Returning to his store, he locked the door behind him just as the sun was setting. As the small bell attached to the door softly filled the destroyed store with its happy sounds, his eyes carefully scanned the store. He was alone.

* * *

About two hours later, just as the darkest part of the night was settling into its reign, Mr. Tyler was pacing through his store, surveying the damage in the darkness. The bits of glass from the shattered front counter crunched under his feet as he walked slowly though the remains of his treasured store. His eyes burned when his flashlight illuminated the broken picture of his great-grandfather, standing before the store on opening day.

He carefully scooped it out of the rubble before brushing off bits of glass and setting the picture on a shelf. A broken light over his head fizzled as he stared down at it and a small clatter made him jerk around.

"Who's there?" he called out, shining the flashlight in the direction of the noise. A blank wall, covered in a snowy layer of flour and scattered with knives, was all that met his search. He struggled to listen, but no other sounds floated through the nearly deserted store. Shaking his head, he muttered darkly to himself and continued his prowl, annoyed that he was so jumpy and paranoid. A quick glance at his revolver – fully loaded, cleaned, and setting out ready to go – gave him all the reassurance he needed.

The back of the store was just as much of a disaster as the front. He sidestepped one of the large ovens and skirted a pile of twisted baking sheets. A grimace slid across his face when the flashlight's beam moved over the ancient furnace that had been used to bake the store's bread nearly a century before. The bricks were cracked and chipped, sharp shards littering the floor.

For a moment he just stood there, staring at the mutilated brick furnace, the true weight of the damage dropping onto his shoulders. Tens of thousands of dollars worth of damage had been done. Many of the appliances would have to be replaced. Some things – like the front counter – were irreplaceable. He kicked a loose pile of bread pans in a fit of impotent rage. They skittered across the floor, banging and ringing in the darkness.

"Damn it," he swore, turning around and feeling his blood boil as he stormed past one piece of broken equipment after another. "Whoever did this is going to…"

He trailed off as the door leading to the small storeroom caught his eye. The door had been shut, hiding the contents, but he knew what was in there. Boxes. Row after row of empty boxes. His fist clenched tightly around his flashlight, making the beam wobble and the doorknob glint. An idea had sprung into his head.

Carefully picking his way through the destroyed bakery kitchen, Mr. Donough stepped up to the door and pushed it open. Cool air rushed out of the dark room. He flicked the light switch, but this light was broken as well. The flashlight sputtered, illuminating the rows of neatly stacked boxes. After the disaster of the store he had just come from, the clean and organized room was mind-blowing.

He set the flashlight down on one of the stacks of boxed near the door so that it shone into the room. Picking up one of the smaller boxes, he held it in his hands, weighting it. "All this trouble, all this money," he whispered to the box, "and it's got something to do with you. I don't know what, but the idiot who did this has some kind of freaky fetish with you boxes."

The box sat silently in his hand, its corners digging into his palms.

"Four generations. _Four!_" he complained to the room and to the box in his hands. "And now it's gone. All our hard work." Anger was rushing through him as the thoughts coursed through his head. "Completely ruined." Snarling, he crushed the empty box between his hands. A drop-kick later, and the remains of the small box slammed into the far wall and toppled to the ground.

He grabbed the next box down the pile, throwing it roughly into another stack. The boxes tumbled to the floor in disarray. Mr. Donough let out a strangled scream, tossing boxes left and right, completely destroying the small room.

"Damn boxes," he cursed when the last one was flattened beneath his boot. Feeling much better, he surveyed the chaos. There was probably a whole truckload of cardboard scattered on the floor. Boxes had been squished, ripped, muddied, and trampled, and the store owner was left standing in the middle.

"Damn boxes." He picked his way back over to the door and grabbed his flashlight from where it had fallen. With one last glance around the storeroom, Mr. Donough stepped back into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

He was in the deli part of the store when a soft jingling sound filled the room. He straightened, holding still. That had been the sound of his grandfather's bells – the ones attached to the front door to welcome customers. He was about to call out, but stifled his sounds at the last moment. Perhaps this was the perpetrator.

Narrowing his eyes and covering the beam of his flashlight with his hand, Mr. Donough slid quietly through the wreck of his deli to peer around the corner. He felt like James Rockford, PI, investigating a crime, and a thrill of adrenaline flooded through him. Glancing around the door frame, Mr. Donough studied the front of his store. It was, to all appearances, empty.

But the bells had rung. Having lived and worked in this store all his life, he knew very well that those bells wouldn't ring because of a breeze. They wouldn't ring if someone had just rattled the locked door. The _only_ way they went off was if someone had actually swung the door open. There was no doubt in his mind that someone was in the store with him. Besides, the store had lost its 'empty' feeling and all the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.

A light flickered in the corner of his eye. He twitched towards it, surprised that it came from the bakery kitchen. How had he missed someone walk past? They had to have walked on the broken glass surrounding the front counter and he would have heard that. The glow, however, was definitely coming from the kitchen. It was a soft bluish glow that looked a lot like moonlight.

Forgetting about his revolver, Mr. Donough carefully stepped forwards, his eyes trained on the faint light. It wavered and sparkled just beyond his view. Steps before reaching the corner to see the kitchen, the light vanished like it had never existed.

He stood perfectly still in the darkness, his own flashlight muffled by his palm over the bulb. He didn't dare uncover the light. For the first time, his mind settled on questions about who this was, and what they could do. Suppose the person – or people – had a gun?

Suddenly, he shivered. A freezing wave of air had just blown down his back, sending goose bumps racing along his skin. "What was that?" he mouthed, not willing to speak out loud. The door behind him, the one that lead to the storeroom, creaked softly.

He spun around, his wide eyes searching for a figure in the darkness of the store. His idea to stay and protect his deli and bakery was beginning to sound like an extremely bad idea. His gut was clenching and his brain was screaming at him to get out of the store. Whatever it was, it really couldn't do much more damage than had already been done.

The door, shrouded in shadows, was firmly closed – just like he had left it. A foot slid forward, almost of its own accord, inching Mr. Donough towards the door. Another few inches and he paused, listening carefully. He hadn't _seen_ anybody. What if it was just a squirrel or something? He wasn't going to get chased from his own store by a rodent with a tail fetish.

Three more slow steps and he flipped his flashlight off, raising his hand to touch the doorknob. The metal was so cold his fingertips were sticking to it. A light coating of ice was actually covering the outside of the door. Whatever was inside was extremely cold. He swallowed roughly, debating whether or not to open the door.

A scream filled the store, a horrified wail that shook windows and sent Mr. Donough to his knees, clutching at his ears in pain. The sound had come from inside the storeroom. Pulling his shattered wits back together, Mr. Donough scrambled to his feet and fumbled with his flashlight. Hell with questions and what happened to his store, he was getting out of here as fast as he could. He was half convinced the Devil himself was standing on the other side of that door. There could be _anything_ back there. A snippet of the flick he had just seen, _The Omen _, slipped unbidden into his mind.

With one last glance at the door, now noting the slight light that slipped from the crack around the door, Mr. Donough turned and made his way towards the front door. His shoes crunched loudly on the shattered glass that littered the hallway and he winced, looking around to make sure he wasn't being followed. He slid around the front counter, his eyes finally catching sight of the streetlight shining through the glass of the door.

"No," whispered a voice off to his right. Mr. Donough spun around, eyes wide. There, standing next to the wall with a crushed box in his hands, stood a slightly paunchy man in coveralls and a pillbox hat. The shadows gave his skin an almost bluish tinge and he seemed to glow. It was like the moonlight was shining straight through the ceiling and only alighting on the man.

"All my hard work," the man sobbed as he cradled the cardboard like a precious child. "Ruined. Completely ruined. All gone. All that hard work." Carefully, gingerly, the man straightened the box and attempted to restore its cubical shape while Mr. Donough watched silently. Mr. Donough didn't dare to move – the odd box man didn't seem to have noticed his presence yet.

"It's gone," the man hissed, looking up to meet Mr. Donough's eyes. The man's eyes caught the moonlit glow and reflected it like a cat's eyes in the dark, making them seem to glow an impossible blue. "And it's all your fault."

Mr. Donough backed away, trembling, using his hand to guide him around the counter and towards the door. His fingers caught on remnants of glass still clinging to the wooden frame and left small drops of blood behind. "Stay away from me," he said, unaware that his voice was shaking and his feet were barely moving.

"My beautiful boxes," the man cried softly, gently setting the nearly reformed box on the floor and kneeling as if in prayer. "All my hard work, all gone."

"W-who are you?"

The man looked up from his crouch, tears mixed with fury sparkling on his moonlit face. "I am the Box Ghost," he said, his voice a raspy whisper. "And I will have my revenge." He seemed to almost float for a second as he regained his feet with the smoothness of a world-class ballet dancer. "Run, human." He took one step forwards, his eyes glittering with death. "Run from the Box Ghost."

Then he vanished. There was no sound, no flash of light, no gentle mist or blur; he was merely gone.

Mr. Donough, terrified to the point of barely being able to think, raced away from the counter, his hands grasping for the doorknob. The chill metal was silky in his bloody fingers as he clawed at the knob, twisting and turning it, taking huge, sobbing breaths. When the door refused to open, Mr. Donough screamed and slammed at the glass with his fist. In his fear, he couldn't remember the door needed to be unlocked to open. The key, resting in his pocket, was completely forgotten.

He stared out the plate glass window of the door, begging for it to break. He preyed for a neighbor to wake up, for someone to walk by, for a car to drive up. But the darkness beyond the store held nothing for him but a few distant, cold stars and the dead grass illuminated by the lone street light. "Please…" he moaned. He didn't know who he was asking for or even _what_ he was asking for anymore.

His soft reflection suddenly changed, twisting for a heartbeat into a rounded face with murderous blue eyes. Mr. Donough screamed and backed away, running through the store. He slipped and fell on the glass, slicing small cuts all over his palms and knees.

"My boxes," a voice whispered in his ear. The small hairs on the back of his neck stirred in a ghostly breeze and the temperature plummeted. Mr. Donough froze, the shards of glass digging deeper into his hands as he crouched on the floor. Behind him, a small light was glowing. He couldn't move his head to look.

"Please, I'm sorry," Mr. Donough sobbed, "Let me go."

"No one escapes the Box Ghost," the man hissed as his boots came into view, stepping onto the glass but somehow not making a sound. "I _will_ make you pay for what you did, you damn human. How _dare_ you defy the power of the Box Ghost?"

"I… I didn't… I'm sorry… p-please…"

"_NO_!" A broken chair, thrown roughly through the air, slammed into Mr. Donough and sent him crashing against the far wall. He coughed and clutched at his ribs, struggling to breathe. His head came up and stared at the enraged man in desperation, but he couldn't get enough breath in his lungs to say anything.

Behind the brightly-glowing moonlit man, the knives jerked themselves out of the walls and hovered in midair, their finely honed edges and carefully maintained blades gleaming in the dull streetlight. Just a few feet from Mr. Donough's feet, the revolver lay untouched, but practically impossible to get to. He took a deep, shuddering breath, a scream building in his chest and blocking off any words he wanted to say.

He couldn't even beg for his life.

* * *

When the two Chicago detectives arrived early the next morning, Mr. Tyler Donough, owner of _Tyler's Deli and Pan Bakery_ (since 1881), was nowhere to be seen. After several hours of phone calls to try and locate him, the detectives finally had to force their way into the store. Lying in a neat pile on the floor, the sleeping bad looked unslept-in, the revolver lay untouched, the bags of chips unopened.

Other than the blood on the doorknob, small drops of blood around the countertop, and a tiny trail of blood leading down the hallway, there were the few other signs that anything had happened last night. The flashlight lay in the hallway, its glass top cracked. The crushed glass littering the floor was dotted with blood and brushed into odd patterns. The knives the police had reported stuck into the walls were missing. But the only real clue they had as to the whereabouts of the missing man was the videotape stuck in the recorder.

While the town's police bagged evidence and scouted for fingerprints, the two detectives squatted down, rewound the tape, and glanced at each other. Their instincts were screaming that _something_ had gone on last night. This place couldn't be nearly as 'clean' as it appeared. One detective grabbed a small pad of paper to take notes as the other pushed 'play'. For a few moments, static filled the screen before it cleared, revealing the faint shape of Mr. Donough prowling his store.

They watched in silence, fast-forwarding through over two hours of pacing. On the screen, the man stormed into the storeroom off the hallway and disappeared off the tape for a few moments. A few minutes later he reappeared, still wandering disconsolately around the store. Then, suddenly, the screen went blank. Static invaded the small television set.

"What's wrong?" the taller detective asked sourly, banging on the box, thinking it would help the signal.

The other just shrugged and clicked fast-forwards, zipping through a few minutes of static. For just brief moments, they saw images on the tape before it dissolved back into static: Mr. Donough, banging on the front door and trying to get out of the seemingly empty store; the man kneeling on the ground behind the counter; another of him apparently being dragged into the storeroom. In each of the short bits of tape, only Mr. Donough was ever seen, never the attacker.

After about fifteen more minutes of static, the tape suddenly began working again – showing an unchanging image of the storefront for the rest of the night. The two detectives watched themselves bang on the door and continued to watch in silence until they saw themselves enter the store about thirty minutes earlier.

"What do you think, Carl?" the short one asked, sitting back on his heels and straightening his new, white overcoat.

"I think Mr. Donough might still be in the storeroom." He raised one eyebrow, tipping his head in the direction of the hallway and the closed door. "Shall we see?"

The small room, however, opened to reveal the most bizarre sight. Every box had been neatly stacked, in order from largest to smallest, along one wall of the room. The detectives traded glances. The room was clean and neat – bizarre after the chaos of the rest of the store.

"What happened?" the taller detective, Carl Kennerman, asked softly, stepping farther into the room and wrinkling his nose. The whole room stunk of raw meat. The air had the same iron tang that surrounded a well-used and bloody butcher's block. He looked carefully at the boxes, thinking that a body had been stashed behind them, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

"Not a clue. Maybe he got away?"

"Unlikely," the detective trailed off and walked over to the stacks of boxes. "He would have called someone, Jones." He picked up one of the smallest boxes and blinked down at it. The bottom of the box was slightly soggy, leaving an imprint of wetness on the box below it. The contents of the small box rolled unsteadily as he tipped it over to see the bottom.

The carefully closed box top opened a bit, letting a wave of sickening stench out into the room. After setting the box down, the tall detective slowly opened the top and studied what was inside. For a quiet moment, the man's face grew pale. Then he stood up and walked out of the room, followed closely by his partner.

"What was in the box?" Jones asked after a minute, watching his friend regain his composure.

"Mr. Donough, I think."

"Awful small box to hold a man."

Kennerman stepped back into the room and leaned against the doorframe, his bright eyes staring at the stacks of cardboard boxes, thinking. "It wasn't all of him – just a bit. Looked kind of like a liver."

Grimacing, Jones caught up on his partner's train of thought. "Guess that explains where all the knives went, huh?"

"Yup."

"Think they're in a box too?"

"Possibly." Kennerman sighed, his mind already starting to think of ways this could have happened. Mr. Tyler Donough had been, no doubt, neatly sliced into pieces and placed into the boxes so perfectly arranged in the small storeroom. He thought about checking his theory by opening up a few more boxes, but his stomach railed against the idea and he contented himself with just staring at the cardboard cubes, his brain churning through different ways it could have been done. He hated a mystery. He knew, however, that if he stood here long enough he could figure anything out.

He was still there half an hour later when they finished unpacking Mr. Donough – who had ended up in fifty-seven pieces. He was still there when the forensic team finished taking their photographs and left the bloody mess of cardboard piled in one corner, to be cleaned up later. He was still there when the police finally shooed the last of the interested civilians and newspaper reporters away. It wasn't until the sun was about to set that Kennerman left the building and locked the door behind him. He stormed over to his car, shaking his head angrily.

He hated a mystery.

* * *

The next morning, Mrs. Donough parked her car next to the store that had been her husband's life… and death. There was something she needed to know. Slowly, tears prickling her eyes, she walked up to the front door and quietly unlocked the front door. The sad tinkling of the bell attached to the door drifted through the store as the ancient door swung open. The morning sunlight streamed in to reveal the anticipated chaos from a few days earlier.

She swallowed, picking her way carefully through the mess, her eyes fixed on the spot where the store room would come into view. When she reached the smashed remains of the once glorious stained-glass counter, her feet stopped. Unable to move any farther, she leaned over, twisting her head, dreading the sight that she _knew_ would meet her eyes.

Old police tape was still strung across the darkened opening. Mrs. Donough's eyes narrowed, searching the darkness, looking. Finally, she saw them.

Every box – emptied so carefully by the coroners and left in a messy, bloody pile – was stacked, from largest to smallest, along one wall.

For a moment, Mrs. Donough just stood there, staring, tears leaking out of her eyes as she gazed at the mysterious cause of her love's murder. Then she turned around, quickly making her way back to the front door. She pulled the door shut after she stepped outside, carefully locking the front door and silencing the bell's jingle forever.

She turned around and walked away.

_Tyler's Deli and Pan Bakery _(since 1881) remained untouched and empty for the next several years, a silent memorial to the late Mr. Tyler Donough, before it was finally demolished to make way for the new high school.

* * *

"I hate this," Kennerman muttered darkly after thanking the waitress for his slice of pie.

"It's not your fault," his partner said for the eighth time. "The Donough murder is a tough one. You can't solve every crime in twenty-four hours or less, you know. Not even the great Kennerman and do everything."

"It's been three _days_. I can't even come up with a good theory. There's just no way it could have happened!"

Bobby Jones shrugged and took a big bite of his pie. "You'll figure it out at some point."

"Stupid tape," Kennerman sighed as he picked up his fork. "If only it had worked properly, we might at least have a picture of the suspect."

"I've been thinking about that." Jones gestured with his fork, ignoring the eye roll from his partner. "And no, it's not another alien theory. I talked to some people and they said that a strong electromagnetic field could have damaged the tape."

"Electromagnetic?"

"Yeah. Paranormal scientists study electromagnetic fields, there's some kind of device you can get that measures it." He forked up another bite of his apple pie.

Kennerman narrowed his eyes, studying his alien-obsessed friend. "Paranormal? I thought you said it _wasn't_ a crazy alien abduction theory."

"It's not," Jones swallowed his piece of pie, "I'm talking about the spectral realm, the great beyond, the restless ones." He grinned at Kennerman's confused look. "You know, ghosts and spirits and stuff."

The detective shook his head in disbelief, not quite knowing what to say to that.

* * *

It was hours later before the detective finally found his voice. Unfortunately, it was in at a restaurant where he was overhead by one Irene Nevarez, newly engaged to Jose Sanchez (son of one of the most prominent citizens in Amity Park), and the largest gossip in town. The detective only said one word, but it did all the damage in the world: "Ghosts?"

And so the legend of Amity Park continued to grow…


	14. The Lost One

My small cell is all I can ever remember. It's got thick, perfectly flat blue-white walls, floor, and ceiling, with nothing but two tiny windows along one wall to break the monotony. There is never any sound that enters into my prison – everything is perfectly, eerily silent.

I pace from one wall to the other, mumbling softly to myself to try to break the total stillness. One, two, four, five… Silver chains connect my wrists and ankles to the back wall of the cell, but they don't make a sound as they brush against each other or when they drag on the floor. It's almost like they don't really exist. I knew they do, though; I have spent uncountable days sitting in the corner of the cell, brushing my fingers over the cold, hard metal.

Normally I'm content to sit in the corner and wait for something to happen. Today… today something's different. My stomach's twisting on itself and my heart's beating faster than normal; my feet are restless and my eyes keep flickering around the cell like I'm expecting something new to be there.

The problem is that I can't remember ever seeing anything 'new'. In all of my existence, all there has ever been are the blue-white walls and the silver chains and the two incredibly small windows that show nothing but an endless abyss beyond my cell. The idea of there being something out there that I don't know about – things that I have never experienced in my tiny world – sets all my nerves on end.

The idea of something new coming into my small room is… terrifying.

My endless pacing hesitates for a moment and I slip over to the windows, gazing out into the complete blackness. A shiver runs down my spine at the sight of the nothingness, a tiny thread of fear streaking through my stomach. _Nothing_.

I turn away abruptly, rubbing my arms and letting my mind drift into the soothing pattern I'd discovered years earlier. One, two, four, five, three, two… As much as I fear the idea of there being something new and undiscovered out there, I dread the emptiness even more. It's a constant worry in the back of my mind. I can't drag myself away from wondering what will happen if the thick walls of my cell disappear, leaving me to exist in the pure nothing beyond.

I know what it's like to live without anything – nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to smell – but the idea of being forced to exist in that abyss never fails to make all the hairs on my arms stand up. At least my cell is _something_.

I drop into a crouch and press my back against the wall, listening to my breath rasp loudly in my throat, wondering what this _thing_ is that I can feel coming. My eyes scan the cell, flickering over the soothing blue-white walls, my breath suddenly catching in my throat, my heart beating quickly in my chest.

But there isn't anything there. There's _never _anything there.

I'm all alone.

Breathing out harshly, I force myself to relax and settle into a more comfortable position on the wall. Nothing's going to come. My cell isn't going to fall apart and leave me to the blackness. I have all of eternity to sit in my cell and nothing will ever change.

For a few moments I hold perfectly still, my eyes closed, my thoughts silent. The idea that nothing is ever going to change is very soothing; my nerves slowly start to calm down. When my breathing finally falls into a trance-like, slow pattern, I let my eyes open and push my worries into the back of my mind. They're still there – but they're muted for the time being.

One, two, four, five, three, two, one, four… In the worry-free moment, my fingers start tapping gently against my leg and I glance down at them, watching them dance out an incredibly complex pattern. As the pattern unfolds, I start to hum softly and rock back and forth, enjoying the sensations of _touch_ and _sound_. In my little world there's nothing to touch but the walls and the chains; in my little world there aren't any sounds unless I create them myself.

Sometimes – especially when I'm lost in this pattern – I wonder if I'm crazy. Would a _normal_ person sit in a corner and hum to themselves and memorize an almost endless pattern of numbers? I never know. I've asked myself if I'm crazy a million and one times by this point and I've yet to come up with an answer. I've never met another person; I have no concept of what 'normal' means. Perhaps, if there even _are_ other people in their own tiny rooms somewhere in the abyss, they all do exactly what I do.

I just don't know. Maybe I'm crazy, maybe I'm normal. Maybe…

The room suddenly seems to shiver and I jump to my feet, my eyes wide, my breath catching painfully in my throat. My world has never done this before and my heart starts to beat wildly. Trembling, I search my cell for anything – _anything_ – dreading what I'd see, terrified that something would be happening.

For a moment I see nothing; everything is normal. Then I spot it: a tiny, miniscule crack in my smooth prison walls, scarcely an inch long.

Hesitatingly, I walk over to the small crack and run my fingers over the tiny bump, my heart slowly settling back into a normal pace. I can't tear my eyes off the almost unnoticeable crack, swallowing heavily. This is something _new_, something unexplainable… something to be feared. Licking my lips, I take a small step backwards, never letting my eyes leave the tiniest of defects in my wall.

Is this the first sign that my prison is finally falling to the nothing? Will the small crack grow and widen until my whole cell falls apart and I'm thrown into the endless blackness? Is this what will doom me to forever exist in an eternal abyss?

A tiny, terrified chuckle slips out of my mouth and I jump, startled at the sound of my own voice, retreating to the far corner of my cell. Unable to wrench my eyes away from the crack in my wall, my fingers start to tap against my leg, the movements tense and quick. One, two, four, five, three, two, one, four…

Nothing seems to help fight against the panic that is edging into me. My arms and legs are shaking uncontrollably and I have to pull them tightly against me to try to keep them still. My heart is pounding in my chest and my breathing is harsh and rapid. One, two, four, five…

It's not helping. The world starts to go black at the edges of my vision as I keep my eyes trained on the almost invisible crack. The thick, sturdy walls of my prison are crumbling.

I have no doubt that I'm about to die.

The room shivers again and a whispered scream of terror leaks out of my throat, my eyes slamming closed. I don't want to see any more. I don't need to look, I already know that the tiniest of cracks has just grown wider – the blackness is eating its way into my cell. Pressing my head against my knees hard enough to make stars sparkle behind my eyelids, I can't imagine anything more terrifying than what's happening to me right now. The end of the world as I know it is coming.

This is what I've been feeling all day, the thing I've known was coming. This has to be it.

Please make it stop, please make it never come again. I whimper a little, curled up in my ball, my whole body on edge as I wait for another one of the tremors to slip through my cell. This isn't what I want – I want it to stop. Please, someone… _anyone_… make it stop…

It doesn't. Another shiver slides through the room. Then another. And another. They're spaced out at almost perfect intervals and I start to anticipate them coming before they arrive, my body tensing and my breath catching inside of me. Each time the small quiver passes through the room I fear that it's the end… but the odd shivers never seem to affect me.

Finally, after dozens of these terrifying moments, I pull my head away from my knees and open my eyes, instantly searching out the crack in the opposite wall. In my mind I can see it – grown into a gaping hole that would swallow me and throw me into the nothingness where I would never be able to see or hear or feel every again.

But I can't find it. The shock makes the terror that had been sinking its teeth into me lose its grip. I blink and get to my feet, squinting as I carefully study the opposite wall, fearful of what I'd see but no longer lost to the panic I'd been feeling. A tiny shiver slides through the room but I barely notice it this time – I'm too intent on finding the crack that I'd convinced myself was growing.

My feet move, slowly carrying me across my cell, hesitating after each step to scan the wall and try to find the impossibly small defect in my perfect walls. It's not until my silver chains are almost stretched tight, my body most of the way across my cell, that I am finally close enough to see the crack.

It _has_ grown. It is now nearly the length of my finger… but still so thin that not even one of the hairs from my head would fit through it. One of my hands comes up to softly trace over the fracture as another tremor passes through my cell. I tense a little, but relax almost immediately after it's over. My eyes never leave the tiny crack – it didn't even grow in that last shiver.

What is this thing that has entered into my life? These shivers and this small crack… what does it mean? My heart is still beating too fast; my nerves are still standing on end. I don't like this – I don't like this at all.

One, two, four, five… my fingers tap against the wall as I think, trying to figure out what is going on around me. For all of my existence this had been all I'd ever known. Now though…

_What was that?_

I freeze, my heart stopping in my chest. Slowly, almost painfully, I tip my head to the side, my messy white hair dropping into my narrowed eyes, waiting. I thought… I thought… had I _heard_ something?

Just as another shiver races through my tiny cell, I hear it again. It's the softest of noises, almost unable to be heard, gone almost as quickly as it has come. But it's loud in my ears after an eternity of listening to nothing but my own heartbeat. The first sound to ever venture into my prison.

My eyes lock on the crack in my wall, my heart still refusing to beat, my lungs not breathing – I know instantly that the sound is coming through the crack. It is coming from the abyss… coming from the blackness…

I hear the sound for a third time and it finally shakes me out of my frozen state. I backpedal, tripping over the silver chains, and scramble away from the crack and the sounds coming through them. When my back slams into the opposite wall I'm forced to stop, my ears aching as they try to hear the terrifying sounds, my stomach churning.

The shivers… the sounds… it's all too much. This is _my_ prison, my cell… my whole _world_. It's falling down around me, changing…

Unable to catch my breath, unable to slow my racing heart, petrified at the way my cell is changing around me, I lose myself to the panic that is clawing at my mind. The world becomes fuzzy and then slips to black. Deep in the back of my mind I can feel the pattern running around in circles.

One, two, four, five, three, two, one, four…

* * *

I'm up and moving again, walking slowing around in the largest circles my chains will let me. It's been so long since the end of the silence and the start of the noises that I don't even flinch anymore when the sounds reach my ears. They aren't anything recognizable – today is one of the days I remember what words are – these sounds are just strings of harsh sounds and smooth sounds and bubbling sounds. I like the bubbling sounds; they remind me of something I lost so long ago, not that I can remember what it was I lost.

I can't decide if I like the sounds. They are a welcome break from the long years of silence, but they are so very distracting. I haven't finished my pattern on my fingers since the sounds started. Each new sound makes me sit up and listen, pay attention, focused and wary. Soon, though, the sounds become something normal and I stop being startled when I hear them. They just sway through the background of my life.

One combination of sounds – one _word_, my mind informs me – slips through the cracks most often. For some reason the sounds cause a warm sensation in my stomach and a fluttery whisper in my mind. _Phantom_. Why am I drawn to the sounds? I'm not even sure what they mean. Perhaps the sounds mean freedom.

Quietly dropping back onto my heels, I wait for a moment as I contemplate my sanity again. I must be crazy today, I think. Now that I'm hearing things that do not belong to anyone, surely I can be insane. If only I could finally allow myself to lose my reason and my sanity, to just admit that I am nuts, I could be a bit happier, I think. The burden of having to stay sane would be off of me. In the end, though, I decide that I still don't know for sure. The safety of insanity stays beyond my outstretched fingertips.

Sighing quietly, I shake my head and drop the rest of the way to the ground, crossing my legs and closing my eyes, propping up my chin with an arm, just listening to the strange sounds. _Tu… om… ee… ss… ta… tr… ay…ks…_

Such a strange combination of sounds that I can't help but be drawn to, listening rapturously, half-loving and half-fearing what the noises mean. The noises are slipping through the widening cracks in my walls. Slowly my prison is breaking down and the rest of the world is being let inside. I'm not sure what I'll do when the day comes and my world falls completely apart. I understand, now, that it's coming – slowly but steadily. And I fear what is on the other side of my prison walls.

There is nothing out there I understand. There is nothing out there that I know I want. I want so desperately to be free of this prison and of the silence and of the loneliness and of the chains… but when I think about being free, I only want to be locked up again. Only fear accompanies my mind when it wanders towards thoughts of what I would do if I were out of the chains.

My chains. _My_ chains.

Such beautiful chains. I run my free hand over the sparkling silver metal with my eyes still closed, feeling the cold press into my fingers, touching the place where the chain runs straight into my leg. No cuff, no lock, no ring of silver to hold me in place; the chains are welded right to my bones. They are there to keep me in place. To keep me safe. To keep me locked away in my prison. To keep me from leaving.

I want to leave.

I want to stay.

And still the sounds echo through my tiny prison, breaking into my thoughts with their strangeness and their newness, scattering my mind into a million pieces with each sound. _I… ve… ou… am…_

I curl my fingers together tightly in frustration, unable to think, both loving and hating the sounds that have marred the timeless silence of my prison. Over and over I try to think, I try to understand what's going on, I try to decide if I want to be free or if I want to stay safely in my prison, and each time my thoughts are dashed against the jagged rocks of the sounds of the outside world. Tears prickle in my eyes before I finally give up, allowing myself to let it go and think about it later.

For now, I am trapped, safe, wishing to be gone from this prison and half-panicking over the idea of being free.

Against my cheek, I can feel my fingers tapping unconsciously to the beat of the sounds coming through. I lean into the feeling slightly, my heart slowing down it's frustrated pace at the gentle calming pattern. One, two, four, five, three, two, one, four…

* * *

There are pictures outside my window today. I stand at the farthest reaches of my silver chains, gazing at the almost-clear images that are greeting my eyes. They move and swirl, never staying in the same place long enough. It's almost sickening to watch, the kaleidoscope of colors and movements and shapes. I would have been sick, except I'm not sure if I've eaten anything in the past few years. Instead, I content myself with being merely dizzy to the point of needing to sit down every few minutes.

As soon as the dizziness passes, I'm up again, straining against my chains, desperate for the views my eyes are taking in. Beautiful green things that move and bend, a giant blue background that stretches on for all of eternity, and actual other _people_.

I have trouble looking at the people through the windows. They look so strange to my eyes, move so carelessly, seem not to care that I'm locked away so close but yet so far away from them. A few look my way, but none ever seem to actually see me. They just smile at something and move their lips and…

The sounds come. _Da… co… pp… st…_ I've figured out that the strange sounds are coming from those other people, their voices, their words, and I know that someone is speaking even if I can't see them. The sounds are becoming ever so much clearer each time my prison shivers and shakes, the cracks growing ever larger. I'm finally able to realize that the sounds are all different – the tones and the notes and the volumes are unique for each person – but I'm still not sure I want to see the people. It's hard to see them when they don't see me back.

Images move beyond my curious eyes, bouncing slightly up and down, moving to the left and right, back and forth, always in that dizzying motion. Oh, how I wish that they would hold still for an eternity. No doubt I could spend the rest of my existence staring at just one of the images, much less all the ones I'm seeing. I want to make it stop, hold still, press the pause button…

What's a pause button? I look away, confused at the thought that has entered my mind. I'm somehow remembering something I've never seen before, never has known existed. A large box, a moving picture, a small controller with a pause button that makes the pictures stop. Where is that coming from? Why am I remembering such a thing?

My breath hitches in my throat at the unexpected development, the strange knowledge that has suddenly jumped into my mind, and my fingers instantly starting their calming tap against my leg. One, two, four, five, three, two… My eyes close, struggling to think calmly despite the sounds penetrating my prison. Go away, leave me alone, just let me sit here and be me and not think about weird things and let me be safe…

Finally my eyes open and I look back out the window, unable to keep my gaze away, enthralled by the displays, busily watching the world passing me by. I love the greens that I can see – every variance in shade causes a sparkle of happiness to course through me. Green is my favorite color of all. I haven't wondered how it is I know the names of the colors I'm seeing – my prison is nothing but silvers and grays and whites and blacks – and that is probably for the best. I just want to watch. Such a thing as wondering about colors would have sent me spiraling into something I couldn't handle.

I can see hands through the tiny windows and that fascinates me, fingers that are so like mine that hold things and touch things and play with things. Fingers that tap softly against walls and floors and tables. Fingers that, like mine, move constantly. Maybe I'm not so crazy after all.

One of the large, green objects I've taken a liking to – the word _tree _brushes up against my mind, but I push back fiercely, not wanting to know a word for something I've never seen before – is filling the windows. The tiny bits of green lodged up high in it move slightly back and forth, but everything is still, the picture having stopped its movement.

I'm pleased. I like the green; I like this thing I can see. I wish I could watch the little splashes – _leaves_ – wiggle forever. Crossing my legs, floating in midair, I prop my chin on my hands and content myself to stare, lovingly, at the beautiful green.

* * *

The cracks are big enough to see through, I notice with a start of surprise not long after I saw my first tree. I could, if the chains were long enough, reach through the cracks in my prison walls with a few of my fingers and touch the blackness beyond. I can't, but I wonder what would happen if I ever could

The thought crosses my mind, not for the first time, that my prison is holding back the blackness for a reason. That it is keeping me safe from it… only my prison is breaking. Soon the blackness will be able to get in. A burst of fear makes me jerk my hand away from the crack, whimpering slightly, backing up a few steps before I can catch myself. True panic crushes me for a long moment and my whole body trembles, my mind caught up in the image of the blackness rushing through the cracks to swallow my soul whole. The blackness could kill me.

My hands are pressed tightly against my chest, my breathing harsh in my throat. Never before have I contemplated the idea of death. I've always assumed that my prison would continue for eternity, my body locked up, my mind curling around insanity for all of time. The idea of an end to that existence has never crossed my thoughts. For the first time, I fear for my soul.

I can't tear my burning eyes away from the largest of the cracks, even as my feet stumble backwards, my body coming to a stop in the dead center of my prison. From here, I can still see the blackness, shiny and shimmering and new and strange, waiting for me. It's poised, stealing my breath from my lungs, drilling into my mind, consuming my thoughts, ready to take my and do what it will.

Arms crushed against my chest, fingers tapping against my sides – one, two, four, five, three, two – as if the pattern will keep me safe. The noises I can take. The pictures I can revel in. But the blackness is to be feared. It is an instinctual reaction, born of nightmares and daydreams and the worst that my psyche can throw at me. Blackness, darkness, nothingness.

I don't know how long I stare, transfixed, at the nothingness beyond my prison walls. It could be minutes, but it could be days. Every time I try to look away, my eyes dart back instantly. Has the blackness moved? Has it started to seep through the cracks? Is it coming? The years of silence and aloneness are a breeding ground of paranoia and mental illness.

I know that the blackness is tipping me towards the insane side, but I can't help myself. I fear the blackness more than anything in my entire memory. I know, deep down, that when the sturdy wall of my prison collapses, I will be no more. My world will end.

The room shivers and I scream in blind terror, my eyes staring at the crack that has widened infinitesimally. Sudden images of monsters and creatures fill my mind as I wonder what's beyond the blackness. What's causing the shaking? Who's attacking my prison? I can't breathe for a few moments, my vision clouding and my ears ringing painfully.

Another shake, another scream, and I drop to the floor, curling up into a tight ball, my gaze unable to be wrenched away from the blackness. A third shiver in as many minutes has the blackness beginning to ooze into the room, breaking off into tiny bubbles of nothing that float towards the ceiling.

I can't breathe. I can't even scream.

My prison gives one final shiver and the wall cracks open entirely, the blackness flooding in and sweeping me up in a tidal wave of nothingness. My eyes go wide in terror for a split second, then all goes black.

* * *

My eyes open, heavy and sleepy, and for a moment I can't remember what has happened. But then it all rushes back to me – the noises and the pictures and the cracks and the blackness and the tidal wave of nothingness. Jolting upright, my eyes wide with a moment of panic, I glance around my prison, looking for the blackness that had tried to swallow me whole.

The blackness is nowhere to be seen, but neither is my prison. Instead of the grey and white and black walls, there are blue ones, covered in colorful artwork – something out of a dream. Small objects dangle from the ceiling and _things_ litter the room in a crazy, comfortable chaos. Most strangely, I find, is what I'm sitting on. It's something I've never seen before; soft and covered in bolts of warm fabric. I run my hands over the soft material, curious and fighting down the fear that's rumbling in my stomach. Where am I? Where has the blackness gone? Where has it taken me? Where is the safety of my prison?

Turning my head, I find a window – but it is nothing like the two windows from my prison. This window is big and open, a cool bit of air blowing across my face, the dark green trees easily seen beyond it. Trees that hold still and don't bob and move in those distractingly dizzy ways. I smile, pushing myself to my knees to peer out into the dark, wishing the lights would come on I he could see the pretty trees better. There is a soft light in the distance, staining the darkness with oranges and reds, but it isn't enough for me to see the beautiful colors of the trees.

Then I see the blackness beyond the trees. It surrounds this strange place, hanging high in the air. Terror claws at me for a moment, my eyes widening, my fingers bunching in the soft fabrics. Keep it away! I want to scream in fear but I don't, my voice captured and taken by the blackness. Even though I'm caught in thick fingers of panic, I see something that makes me hesitate.

Up in the blackness are millions of tiny lights that glitter and shine. There is the blackness that stole my prison and put me here – and it is so very far away. Kept back, I decide almost instantly, by the shimmering lights. I grin in relief but keep a wary eye on the blackness as I stare out the window, my mind imagining it struggling to get back to me but being trapped.

A most wondrous thing happens as time passes: the strange light in the distance grows more brightly, burning away the blackness that stalks me. The tiny lights seem to notice and disappear as well, letting the big light take over. _Sun_ whispers through my mind but I shake my head, unwilling to accept the strange word. It doesn't take long at all before the blackness is completely banished from the world and I take a deep breath. What a fantastic place I've found, so full of light and color and stillness. It's almost peaceful and it brings a rare smile to my face.

My mind questions how I've gotten here as I wait, chin resting on my hands, watching the large light rising into the air and bringing the greens back into the trees. The blackness has brought me here, no doubt about that; it swallowed me and spit me out again. But why here? Why in this wondrously scary place? Why not back in my prison with my silver chains and my windows and my silence?

I chew my lip as thoughts stroke through me. This place, with all its wonderful, strange things… I have no idea what is about to happen and that causes tiny fingers of fear to curl in my stomach. Why can't I be back in my prison where I am safe?

A strange feeling tickles through my mind and I freeze, twisting my head to look around the room. Something warm and fizzy is growing stronger in the back of my mind, and I can hear more sounds. My breath catches in my throat, fear jumping to the forefront at this new thing. I'd be safe in my cell; what is coming? Is it the monsters that lurked beyond the blackness? What will they do to me? The rhythmic, soft sounds echo slightly as I tremble, wishing for them to go away. Isn't it enough that I've found myself in such a strange world? Do I need more things to worry about?

The loudest sound I have ever heard suddenly bangs through the room and I jump, a shriek of panic dying in my throat. "Danny, get up!" a voice yells. Terrified, I throw myself backwards and off the soft sheets of fabric, tumbling to the ground in a pile of limbs.

Then something new happens. A curious, feathery sensation riffles through me and I feel almost like I'm being pushed out of the way. Astonished, unable to comprehend what is happening, I just sit perfectly still as my mouth moves all on its own. "Okay, okay, I'm up Jazz."

The feathery thing is still pressing against me and I take another step away from it, scared. Curiosity tangles through the downy presence inside me as my eyes – ones I'm not moving – scan the ground all on their own, taking in where I've landed. _Why am I on the floor?_ The odd voice, not really heard but definitely real, makes me jump and curl up into a smaller ball in my mind.

As my body moves, standing and walking around, collecting objects – _clothes_ – I close my eyes and curl my arms around my head and try to imagine myself back in my comforting prison where there is no feathers, no movement, no sensations, none of this touching things I'm not telling my body to touch. I curl up tighter and tighter, feeling the silver chains back at my ankles and wrists.

Then, to my amazement, everything goes silence and still and peaceful. No blackness, no fear, nothing new. And I can finally get some sleep.

* * *

It took a while, but I think this new situation isn't too much different from watching through the windows of my prison. I can sit back in my head and the feathery presence controls everything. I can hear the sounds so much better, I can see much more clearly, and now I can feel and smell things as well. If taken in small doses, it's actually kind of interesting. I've started to enjoy peering out of my eyes to see the world for a few brief moments now and then.

It's amazing all of the sights I've seen over the past few days. Sometimes my body, under the direction of the feathers, is sitting in large spaces full of other people. Sometimes it's sitting in smaller places with only a few people. Sometimes it's by itself. And sometimes, every now and then, the feathery presence isn't there at all.

This happens at dark when, I think, the feathers are asleep, giving me free reign to control my body. I'm not fond of this darkness, this _night_, because the blackness is so close. It hovers around me, making me nervous, forcing me to sit and stare out the window until the light comes to send it away. But this night I find something new. It is called a _light switch_ and it makes the light in this small room turn on and banish the blackness.

I sit here, surrounded by light, and explore the small room. I hold things in my hands, searching for the names of the objects in my head. For some reason, I know these things, although I have never seen them before. _Rocket ships_ and _space shuttles_ and _astronauts_ and many other interesting things to touch and hold.

I am almost getting used to this new world I have found myself in. Being locked in a corner of my mind most of the time is almost like being in my prison – it is comforting, in a weird way. But I'm coming to enjoy this time when I am in control of my own body when there are no other people and no other things and I get to learn.

When light fills the window, _morning_ arrives, the feathery presence stirs in my head and I back away, allowing the feathers to control my body for the day, closing my own eyes for a nap. I have had enough of this world for now – I need time to sit back and process all that I've seen and done.

When I open my eyes next, I can see trees out of the corner of my eye. There are people around – those people that seem to look at me but never really see me – and I'm not fond of them. I want to look at the trees some more, I like trees. Unfortunately my eyes are always trained on the people; specifically the one with dark hair, black clothes, and purple eyes. It's kind of frustrating that I can't look at what I want to. It's my body, after all. But I allow the feathers to be in control.

"Should we go back to my house?" I can feel my mouth move, my throat rumble as the words come out unbidden. I shake my head, locked away behind the feathers, silver chains running to my wrists and ankles, not wanting to leave. The trees I can see are very calming for me and I'd rather stay here at the _park_.

"Sure," the violet-eyed person says, a smile on her face. "Monster movie B-rated flick marathon?"

My body laughs, but I don't understand what she has said. What is a flick marathon? I wait in the corner of my mind, confused, hoping that it's something that can be done around the pretty green trees. "What else is there to do on a Friday?" my mouth asks.

"Eat Nasty Burgers!" another voice chimes in and my body is jostled, a hand slapping me on the back. I flinch, closing my eyes for a moment, fighting back a moment of fear before I open my eyes again. I'm perfectly safe here in the corner of my mind. Nobody can harm me; all I am doing is watching.

"I'd rather dissect frogs," the violet-eyed person shoots back.

I blink a moment, wondering what a _frog_ is, then suddenly I know. I hunch my shoulders a little at the strange burst of information and the odd image that has jumped unbidden into my mind, but I try to take a deep breath and calm down. Nobody knows I'm here. It's just like in my prison… only without the walls. I'm fine.

But when my body starts to head away from the trees, I balk. I'm not sure what caused it, up until this point I was fine with letting the feathers control my body. For the first time, I reach out and brush past the soft feathers, halting my body's progress. _I want to stay, _I declare, my real eyes searching out the strange green trees and the bushes and the flowers that I wanted to see.

The presence in my mind has frozen and I can feel it looking at me. _What…?_ I feel a blast of confusion and fear coming from the feathers, then a painful pressure as it tries to take control back of my body. For a second more I fight, but then I give up and huddle in my corner.

"What was that?" my body whispers.

"Danny? You okay?" the violet-eyed person calls from up ahead.

I feel a moment of panic at the thought of the feathers telling the others that I am here. I am only safe in my secrecy. _Don't tell them!_ I plead silently, jumping forwards to touch the other presence in my mind. I don't really knowing what I'm doing, I just press all of my fear and terror towards the feathers, letting it see that I mean it no harm. I can't harm it, I doesn't know how.

"Danny?"

Finally, I feel my head move up and down. "Yup." But the feathery presence isn't smiling. It's staring at me, knowing I'm there, not very happy about it, and wondering why it's lying to its friends. _Who are you?_

I tap my fingers in my mind, unaware that my body is unconsciously following along. One, two, four, five, three, two, one, four… _I don't know._

_What's your name?_ The feathers press in closer, stilling my tapping hands with its powerful mental grasp. I realize that it's worried about being possessed – it's been possessed before. Why I know this, I'm not sure, but I'm positive I'm right.

I've never had a name before, so how am I ever going to answer the question? I really should, since the other presence is lying for me. I blink my burning green eyes a few times and run a hand through my wild silver hair. Then I remember the first sounds I ever heard and how they still cause a warm feeling in my stomach.

I'm not sure it's a name, but I'm going to go for it.

_Phantom._

* * *

"Who are you?" my body whispers again, still unable to understand what I'm saying.

I tug at the silvery chains bound to my wrists and shake my head, trying to come up with a new way to answer the feathery presence's question. I would rather have it leave me alone; I'm really regretting letting it know that I exist. I could have curled up into a little ball and waited for the night to come again rather than speak up. _I am me._

My eyes roll without my direction, but there is a hint of fear in the action. The presence – it thinks its name is Danny – doesn't like that I am here and it _really_ doesn't like that it has sent its friends away. "That's not much of an answer."

I shrug, unable to tell it that I don't have any better of an answer to give. My fingers tap softly against the chains – one, two, four, five, three, two, one, four – and I wait for another question, I know that Danny has a million of them. I can feel them, behind the feathers. I wish he would ask them so that I could vanish again.

"Why are you in my head?"

_It's my head_, I answer back stubbornly, brushing past the feathery barrier and taking back control of my hand to prove my point. Reaching down, I pluck a few blades of grass from the park and twirl them between my fingers. I can feel Danny's confusion and fear for a moment before I retreat back into the safety of the corner of my mind, pull my legs up against my chest, and hug them tightly against me. Rocking a little in my self-created prison, I wait.

My teeth grind a little, then my mouth moves. "Why are you so scared?"

That makes me stop rocking and sit up. Of course I'm scared: this world is something new that I've never seen before. There is nothing safe or secure and the blackness is always hiding around the corner. The thought of the blackness and what it has done to me makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. This whole situation is _because_ of the blackness.

"What is the blackness?" Danny's presence touches against mine almost gently, but I yank backwards and curl up a little tighter.

_I didn't tell you about that! _I snap at it, terror sparking at the thought of it knowing things about me I hadn't ever said. _Stay out of my thoughts._

_I saw it…_ This time the feathery presence doesn't bother to move my mouth, it just speaks with that strange not-quite-real voice. The fear and the wariness are still there, but I can also feel a tiny bit of concern beyond the feathers. _Who are you?_

I scream in frustration and fear, clenching my fingers in my hair, feeling the comforting cool weight of the chains at my wrists brushing against my face. I've had enough of this other presence in my mind. I want him to go away and leave me alone now. _I am me! Go away!_

It brushes up against me again and I lash out at it, pushing fiercely when it comes too close. _What happened to you?_ Danny asks, startled by something.

_Shut up!_ I scream at it, closing my eyes tightly and pressing my hands over my ears, wondering and fearing what it might have seen. Did it see my prison? Did it see the Before? I know that there is the Before, but I don't know what happened during it. Could it have seen something? _Leave me alone, just go away, I want to be alone…_

"Phantom," my mouth breaths and I shudder, wrapping my arms closer to myself.

_Leave me alone, please, leave me alone. I just want to be alone, please._ The feathers brush against me for a second before retreating. Curled up in a corner of my mind, I block out the world, leaving only room in my mind for the pattern. One, two, four, five, three, two, one, four…


	15. The Ghosts of Christmas Eve

"No."

There was a quiet pause before a soft voice said, "But I haven't asked my question yet."

"That doesn't change the answer."

"What if it's not a yes/no question?"

Vlad curled his fingers a little tighter around his fork, refusing to look up or even acknowledge the boy's question. There was always the hope that the persistent child would just leave him alone.

"What if I asked you _not_ to give me a hundred dollars?"

With a sigh, Vlad looked up into two earnest blue eyes that sparkled with something more than just life. "Curiosity killed the cat, Andrew."

The ten-year-old tipped his head to the side, studying Vlad through his messy mop of black hair, obviously confused. "I thought Grandpa Jack ran over the cat."

Vlad couldn't help the snort of laughter at the mention of his old friend, cutting off a piece of his steak before saying anything more. "What do you want, kid?"

The youngest of the half-ghosts grinned and dropped into an empty chair. "We talked about _The Christmas Carol_ at school last week."

"Did you now?" Vlad muttered, turning his attention back to his food.

"Yup. And there's this one guy in the story, his name is Scrooge. He's a lonely old guy who doesn't believe in Christmas."

Vlad arched an eyebrow and popped a bite of his steak into his mouth, waiting for the boy to get to the point. The entire Fenton clan had the tendency to blather on and never really mention why they had bothered to speak to him in the first place. Vlad had gotten used to waiting and ignoring.

"Scrooge was visited by these ghosts at night," Andrew continued, either ignoring or not noticing Vlad's eye roll, "and he had to go see his own grave." There was a quiet note to the boy's voice as he said that. "Scrooge got really scared."

Slowly chewing his steak, Vlad gazed at the youngest half-ghost. "And…" he drawled.

"Dad said I could invite you over for Christmas Eve dinner."

Vlad blinked at the sudden change in topic. "I don't think your father…"

"He _did_ say yes," the boy insisted, leaning forwards with his hands on the table. His eyes were glowing brightly. "And you have to come!"

Vlad let out a slow breath. Daniel's son had proven time and time again to be an adamant and stubborn child; he wouldn't be easily dissuaded from what he'd chosen. Having taken plenty of pages from both of his parents' books on being moral and helpful, the boy was no doubt on a mission of some sort. And from his talk earlier about Scrooge being a 'lonely old guy', it wasn't hard to determine what the mission was.

Even though he didn't want to attend the stupid holiday meal, Vlad was pretty sure that Andrew wouldn't leave until he'd extracted a 'promise' that Vlad would go. "Dinner is a family thing, Andrew. I wouldn't want to intrude."

The boy beamed. "It's okay. Uncle Tucker's coming, and so are Grandpa Jack and Aunt Jazz and a lot of other people. It's not just family this year."

"Are you sure you have enough chairs?" Vlad drawled.

Worry sparkled in Andrew's eyes for a moment, not quite catching on to the sarcastic intent of the words. A grin flickered on Vlad's face for a heartbeat; the boy was truly Jack's grandson. "Maybe I can borrow one from the neighbors…"

Vlad cut him off with a wave of his fork. "I'm busy tonight, Andrew."

"On Christmas Eve?"

"Yes. I have a lot of paperwork to do before the New Year."

"Aren't you too old to have to do paperwork?"

Vlad closed his eyes and set down his fork. "No."

"Oh."

There was a long enough silence that Vlad let an eye crack open, wondering if the boy had left and just accepted Vlad's answer. There was no such luck, however. Andrew had rested his chin on his crossed arms and was staring at him, waiting.

Vlad opened his eyes the rest of the way and stared back. After a long minute, Vlad blinked and shook his head. "I don't want to go, Andrew."

"I don't want you to see your grave when the ghosts come to get you," the boy said simply.

Vlad's eyes narrowed. "The Christmas Carol is fiction; there is no such thing as the ghost of Christmas future."

Andrew didn't answer. He just continued to stare at him and wait.

Pushing his plate out of the way, Vlad leaned forwards a little. "I've already picked out my gravestone," he said darkly. "A ghost showing it to me again isn't going to be much of a surprise."

Again, there was no answer but the quiet stare.

"Annoyance," Vlad muttered, sitting back in his chair and drinking the last of his wine. "Fine, fine, whatever. I'll come to your silly dinner," he lied. Why he hadn't done so right off the bat, he didn't quite know.

Andrew instantly grinned, his eyes lighting up. "It's a potluck – Mom says you're supposed to bring a plate of appetizers and be at our house by four."

"Excellent."

The boy was gone again almost as quickly as he'd arrived, leaving Vlad alone at his table in his empty mansion. He scowled down at his plate before picking it up and carrying it to the kitchen. "Good riddance." Dropping the plate into the sink for his maid to wash the next day, he snorted and said, "Bah humbug."

Vlad had absolutely no intention of going to the Christmas Eve dinner the Fentons were hosting. For a few hours after lunch, he sat at his desk, going through the piles of paperwork he still had to do. He hadn't been completely lying when he'd told Daniel's son that he had quite a bit of work to finish. While he'd slowly been turning over his various businesses to new owners, he was keeping his fingers in enough places to keep him busy during the long, quiet days.

"You lied to my son."

With a sigh, Vlad looked up. Another set of blue eyes, eerily familiar to young Andrew's, was sitting in one of the chairs across from Vlad's desk. "Yes, I did, Daniel."

"You realize how hurt he's going to be when you don't show up?"

Vlad nodded. "You realize how little I care?" The elder half-ghost arched an eyebrow, setting down his pen and folding his hands. "Why did you even let him ask me? You already knew the answer."

Daniel shook his head with a sigh. He leaned forwards in his chair, an odd look in his eyes. "Doesn't it get old, Vlad?"

"Doesn't what get old?" Vlad murmured.

The blue eyes narrowed. "Don't pull the idiot card with me. You know what I'm talking about."

Vlad did know and he wasn't terribly surprised that the dodge hadn't worked. Unlike the rest of his family – parents and children included – Daniel was rather quick on the uptake. Mostly likely, at least so Vlad thought, due to all of the years of dealing with himself. He thought for a moment, knowing that Daniel would most likely catch anything but the most subtle lie as well – the boy simply knew him too well. "No, it doesn't," he said sourly. "I happen to like the quiet and the lack of people barging in when I'm trying to get some work done."

Daniel sighed, catching the subtle jab. "It's one dinner, Vlad."

"It's one dinner, Daniel," Vlad shot back. "I doubt it will matter much in the grand scheme of things."

Rubbing a hand through his hair, Daniel looked around the opulent office, allowing an almost friendly silence to fall between the two. "You've still got my mom's picture on your wall," he said after a long moment.

Vlad couldn't help the grin that drifted onto his face, glancing over at the portrait of the only woman he'd ever fallen in love with. It had been her death a year earlier that had finally snapped the rivalry between the two half-ghosts. They weren't friends by any means, but some of the deepest fissures between them were slowly starting to heal. "Yes," he said softly.

"She'd want you to be there."

Vlad's eyes snapped back to Daniel's, narrowing angrily. "Low blow,_ Daniel_."

Daniel returned the glare with a slight smile. "Doesn't change the facts, fruit-loop. You know that she'd want you to be there after everything you did for her." He hesitated, his hand creeping up to rub the back of his neck. "And I think she'd have been right. You really should come."

For a few seconds, Vlad quietly gazed at the younger man. Daniel flushed a little under the intense scrutiny, but refused to look away, meeting him stare for stare in an odd repeat of the performance at lunch with Andrew. "Really," Vlad murmured.

Daniel nodded. "Yes. Come on, Vlad. It'll be fun."

Vlad shook his head, picking up his pen again and turning his attention to his work. He made it through a few pages of his work before he looked up. The boy – Vlad shook his head again, catching himself; Daniel was far from a boy anymore – the young man was gone.

Vlad was still standing in his office less than an hour later, arms crossed on his chest, looking up at the picture of the woman who he'd been in love with for many years. Despite everything, she'd fallen, her never-let-die personality surviving until she'd slipped away in her sleep. All of the money in the world couldn't conquer the cancer that had eaten her alive.

While it wasn't unusual to see him standing here, studying the most beautiful woman on the planet while thoughts churned in his head, his train of thought was a bit unique. It had been a long time since he had even had a passing thought about venturing to any of the Fenton homes. Now, here he was, standing and thinking about actually going to Daniel's house.

On an invite, much less. What odd turns the world had taken the past few years.

If he was being honest with himself – something he tried not to do very often – he figured that he would admit that a small piece of him wanted to go. His life had always been stressful and quick-paced and lately it had fallen into something that was almost _boring_. Traveling over to Daniel's house for a meal, trying to deal with the youngest half-ghost and Daniel's wife, not to mention the rest of the fiasco that was invited as well, would be a wonderful distraction for the night.

Admitting that, however, would also be admitting to a weakness. Vlad could feel his back straighten and his fists clench at the thought. He was self-reliant and powerful; he didn't need someone else. If he couldn't have Maddie, he wouldn't have anyone.

Forcing himself to relax, he closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He didn't need anyone… and yet Andrew's invitation would not stop circling around his mind like the world's most annoying fly. "What do you think, Maddie?"

Nothing answered, which wasn't much of a surprise. He was quite aware of the fact that she was dead and wasn't going to answer. That didn't stop him from asking again, however, and wishing that she would answer. "Do you think I should go?"

He wrinkled his nose. "It's not like I have anything to bring to the stupid potluck anyways." Nodding as if that settled that, he turned and walked out of his office.

But the idea of going to the party would not leave him alone.

Vlad stared at the clock. He'd long since turned the chime off, but he could hear the sounds in his mind.

Four o'clock.

He wasn't going to the party. He didn't _want_ to go to the party. But here he was, gazing up at the clock, unable to get his mind off of the stupid thing. "Idiot Fentons," he muttered darkly.

It didn't make him feel any better.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past…" a voice slowly intoned behind him, forcing a sigh out of the eldest half-ghost's throat.

"Christmas Past and Present have already been here," he said, not turning around to see who _else_ had come to bother him. Why couldn't people simply leave him alone? "You're stuck with Christmas Future."

"It's technically the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. And I don't want to be that one – I don't have the outfit for it."

Vlad arched an eyebrow, watching the clock tick to 4:02. "You're missing the party, Danielle."

"So are you," she said pleasantly. "My car's out front and I even picked up some appetizers for you to bring."

"I'm not going." He turned around to look at his daughter. She was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, a weapon held loosely in one hand, and _very _pregnant. Vlad blinked at her belly in surprise before dragging his eyes up to meet hers.

Her scowl was quite easy to spot. "I drove all the way here to pick you up. I picked up something for you to bring. I had to _pick the lock_ to get in here since you won't answer the doorbell and I can't phase through things right now. And you're _seriously _going to say '_I'm not going'_?"

"You're pregnant," he said slowly, not really processing what she'd just said. Yes, he knew that she'd gotten married and that she was a successful business woman… But having children?

"I'm due in early February."

"Boy or girl?" he whispered, not so much because he was interested – which he was _not_, he told himself firmly – but because he was thrown off by the idea of his daughter having children.

"Twin girls," Danielle said after a moment, her scowl slowly vanishing. She sighed and shook her head. "Vlad… father… come to the stupid party."

Vlad was still staring at her, trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. "How did you get pregnant?"

With a sudden laugh, Danielle leaned against one of the door jams and grinned. "Do you want the specifics?"

"No," Vlad said quickly, finally shaking himself out of the daze he'd found himself in. "I'm just…" he trailed off, not quite sure what to say.

"If you'd return my phone calls you would have known months ago," she said, rolled her eyes, and repeated herself. "You're coming to the stupid party."

Vlad opened his mouth to argue, but his eyes were drawn to the ectogun dangling from one her hands. Years earlier, he'd run into the Lunch Lady when she was pregnant with her child. It had been one of the only times in recent memory when he'd been truly afraid of a ghost. Whenever a ghost managed, however insanely and illogically, to get pregnant, that ghost was best left alone. Violent, unpredictable, intensely protective, able to access power well beyond their normal limits…

And one had shown up at his front door. A tiny shiver ran down his spine. "Daniel sent you, didn't he?"

"He asked me to come and pick you up, yes," she acknowledged.

"And if I refuse to come?"

Her grin turned evil, her eyes twinkling, her grip on the ectogun shifting slightly. "You're going to the party no matter what you say." She tipped her head to the side, her short-cut hair barely long enough to dangle in her eyes. "You want to go anyway, father. Come with, pretend I'm forcing you if it soothes your hermit ego, and complain about it for the rest of the year if you wish. But come."

He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her for a long moment. "I'm busy," he muttered.

"And that's the lamest excuse I've heard all year." She turned around and walked out the door. "Come on." She didn't look back to see if he was following.

Vlad dug in his heels for a moment longer, refusing to move. He didn't _want_ to go the party and he wasn't going to go. Nobody could force him to go – he was fifty-eight years old and if he didn't want to go to the party…

A flash of green light slammed into the ground next to his feet leaving a smoldering crater. Vlad caught the flinch before it could be seen, glancing down at the hole in his carpet and surveying the rather extensive damage. Danielle's ectogun was on its highest setting.

Still, he thought about resisting. Danielle probably wouldn't force the issue if she really was that pregnant. Then again, there were all those temperamental ghost hormones flushing through her system. Sinking to extreme violence to get her way was not out of the question. For just a moment, he felt a flash of sympathy for Danielle's husband.

Then, with a scowl that would have had armies dropping to their knees and begging for mercy – a look that held absolutely no sway over any of the other half-ghosts in the world – Vlad stormed out the door and headed towards Danielle's car. "Stupid party…"

Vlad held the plate of appetizers in his hand as Danielle and the ever-annoying man she'd chosen to marry, a bland creature named 'Rick', led him towards the front door of the younger Fenton household. He glanced down at the plate with a bit of a sneer, already knowing that it would be a source of amusement at the party. His oh-so-loving daughter had gotten him a plate of cheese. And not just normal cheese – it was green and yellow cheese, arranged in the symbol of the Packers.

The door burst open, life and light and cheer spilling out onto the sidewalk. "You're late," came an annoyed voice, the illustrious Sam Fenton ushering the three of them inside. "Not as late as I expected," she added, "but you're still late." Without a word, she took the plate of cheese from Vlad, handed it to an invisible child behind her, and grabbed the bowl of whatever Danielle had brought.

Andrew flickered into view, staring down at the cheese with a disgusted look on his face. "_Someone _needs to bring something that's not good for you," he moaned, then glanced up at Vlad. "I was counting on you to bring cookies or something."

"I think it's an excellent choice," Sam said and shooed her offspring towards the kitchen. "On the counter by the chips. You can drop your coats in the guest bedroom," she added with a harried grin. "Everyone's here except Jack."

"Excellent," Vlad muttered to himself as he slipped out of his coat and carefully laid it on the appointed bed, one that was already decorated with a multitude of jackets of different shapes and sizes. He spent a moment counting the jackets – coming up with fourteen – trying to delay walking into the other room.

"Uncle Vlad," Andrew said from the doorway, "you gonna stand in here for an hour or are you gonna come out and get something to eat?"

Vlad looked up and sighed, allowing himself to be conned out of the room without any sort of argument. Andrew led him down the short hallway and into the bustling living room before vanishing through the crowd. Holding back a little, he surveyed the mob of people – all of them far too happy for having been dragged here like he did.

Jasmine and her husband were there, along with their two brats – none of whom Vlad remembered the names for. Tucker was there with his wife and their daughter, as was Valerie and her adopted boy. There were two people that Vlad vaguely recognized as the elder Mansons, and two boys that Vlad had never seen before. Sam, Daniel, and Andrew were there, of course, although Daniel wasn't anywhere he could see.

Smart. The apple had definitely fallen far from the tree thanks, in a large part, to him.

Daniel appeared behind him, leaning against the door frame. "You look positively pleasant, fruit-loop."

"I don't want to be here."

"Sure you don't," the young man drawled. "But, since you're here, you might as well find a chair and make the best of it until we let you leave."

"And enter _that_?" he said, pointing into the mass of people. "I'd rather stay here."

Daniel blinked at him, a surprised look on his face. "You realize that by hanging in the doorway, purposefully trying to ignore us, you are not only going to attract the attention of Mrs. Psychologist over there," he pointed to his older sister, "and her miniature psychotherapist son who will try their best to analyze and 'fix' you the _entire _evening, but, in general, everyone else will be over here trying to get you to join in the fun." He grinned, a small flicker of malicious glee in his eye.

Vlad growled under his breath and stalked into the room, Daniel a few steps behind him. "You are getting good at getting people to do what you want," Vlad muttered, searching for an empty chair outside of the main chatter.

"Learned from the best, Vlad," Daniel responded, touching his shoulder as he walked past and vanished into the kitchen to help his wife.

Finding a chair quite a distance out of the way, he found himself unfortunately seated next to Danielle's husband. Two years of dating and almost two years of marriage had done nothing to endear the men to each other, Vlad maintaining his firm belief that the less time he had to be around his supposed 'son-in-law' the better. Not bothering with a greeting on the half-hope that Rick wouldn't speak to him, Vlad settled down in his chair and crossed his arms, exuding every ounce of 'leave me alone' he could muster.

"How is your latest business deal going?" Rick thinks-he's-a-great-businessman asked, either ignoring or not caring about Vlad's obvious body language.

"Slowly," Vlad ground out, not wanting to talk about it. The acquisition of Axion Labs was taking longer than it should – the prospective buyer was too smart for her own good. He physically turned his back on Rick, staring unexpectedly into the eyes of the youngest of Jasmine's children – who was no more than two.

"Perhaps you should try taking the other businessman on a short trip, I've always found that warms them up to deals," Rick said, still not taking the hint.

Vlad ground his teeth a bit. "I hadn't thought of that," he lied.

"It works wonders," Rick continued. "I sold almost ten thousand units to this man when I took him out to eat at a restaurant. I probably could have moved my company's entire stock if I could have taken him on a trip someplace."

"No doubt he bought some to get away from you," Vlad muttered under his breath.

Rick apparently didn't hear. "And I hold the record for moving the most units in a month, you know. A hundred fifty _thousand _units last November. I was the employee of the month…"

Between contemplating the fact that his employees would have been fired _long _before they dropped to selling a measly hundred fifty thousand of _anything _and trying to decide how badly he would be beaten up if the pregnant half-ghost's husband were to take a short walk off a long pier, Vlad came to the conclusion that trying to talk to a two-year-old had to be better than listening to the man ramble.

At least, he thought the youngest brat was two.

"How are you today?" he asked her, trying for a smile.

The girl stuck a finger in her mouth and stared at him, green eyes wide. She backed up a small step, turned, and raced over to her mother. Jasmine simply picked her up and handed her one of the squares of cheese.

"…I've been employee of the month a few times since then, you know," Rick was still saying as Vlad sighed and resigned himself to a wasted evening, "but nobody's ever come close to beating my record. I hold second place as well, you know-"

"_V-man_!"

Vlad looked up, for the first time in decades being able to classify himself as anywhere near 'happy' to hear that annoying nickname. A large man, still dressed in the ever-present orange, was striding through the crowd of people like Moses parting the Sea of Reeds. "Jack."

"I didn't think you'd come," Jack boomed, unceremoniously shooing Rick out of the chair and dropping into it. "Danny said he'd twist your arm, but I still thought you'd win."

"He cheated," Vlad muttered, leaning back in his chair and sighing. "He sent my daughter in for me."

Jack chuckled, his eyes lighting up as they focused on the very pregnant woman in the party. "You ready to be a grandpa?"

There was a beat of total silence as Vlad contemplated that one. For all _biological _intents and purposes, Danielle and he shared little DNA, but they'd more-or-less adopted each other over the years, becoming father and daughter. "That would make me…" he trailed off.

"It's actually a lot more fun than being a parent. You get to do all the fun stuff and if they get annoying, start crying, get sick, or tired, you can just send them home!" Jack grinned happily. "Next time I'll just skip right over the parenting part."

"Next time?" Vlad asked with an arched eyebrow.

Jack blinked a few times, then laughed at his own badly chosen words. "You know what they're going to be yet?"

"What going to be?"

"Danielle's kids."

Vlad crossed his arms over his chest. "Twin girls, apparently."

"That'll be an experience," Jack said with a nod. "If you need any ideas for baby gifts, I've got lots of ghost equipment still hanging around in the Ops Center."

An incredulous look crossed Vlad's face as he glanced up at his sometimes-called-a-friend friend. He didn't know much about children – and even less about babies – but ghost equipment?

Jack caught the look, his grin growing. "Mads and I gave Danny and Sam a supped-up portable ghost shield when they had Andrew. And a baby-sized Hazmat suit."

The picture of an infant dressed in Day-Glo orange spandex flashed through Vlad's mind and an unbidden chuckle slipped out of his throat. "I'm not sure Danielle would appreciate Hazmat suits for her-".

"_GRANDPA JACK_!" Andrew practically flew across the room, throwing himself into Jack's arms. "You have to save me," he said seriously.

"Ghost?!"

Andrew's face twisted and he shook his head. "_Nobody_," he said conspiratorially, "brought anything worth eating to this party. _Please _say you brought desert."

"Your mother said only healthy food," Jack said with a shrug and an apologetic smile. "Jazz says I brought a bowl of fruit salad."

The devastated look on the boy's face was almost enough to get Vlad chuckling again. Perhaps this party was worth coming to – he hadn't come this close to laughing in years. "Not even fudge?" Andrew whimpered.

Jack glanced around, then put a finger to his lips. "Don't tell your mother," he whispered, pulling a small bar of plastic-wrapped fudge out of a pocket. His large fingers quickly separated the bar into two pieces and he handed one over to his grandson. "Secret?"

"Definitely," Andrew whispered, holding the fudge close to his chest as he faded from view.

"He's going to be bouncing off the walls later," Vlad droned as Jack took a large bite of his remaining fudge.

Jack grinned. "Not my kid; I get to go home in a few hours." He swallowed his bite. "I love being a grandpa."

"You two look guilty," Sam said darkly as she walked up to them. "What did you give Andrew?"

"Nothing?" Jack tried, but Vlad figured that the fudge around his mouth would give him away.

Sam sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. "I need some help in the kitchen and Danny's disappeared _again_. You mind carving a ham for me, Vlad? I don't want to touch the thing."

Vlad, who had been assuming that Sam was over to ask Jack to help, blinked up at her in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes, you. You won't add any 'special' ingredients that make the food get up and do the jig-"

"That was a square dance," Jack interrupted.

"-on the kitchen table. And I can trust you not to 'fix' anything in my kitchen while you're in there. And, unlike Tucker, I believe that you won't eat it all before anyone else gets a chance." Sam stared at the eldest half-ghost for a moment. "So, Vlad, would you mind carving a ham for me?"

"He'd love to," Jack bellowed, answering for his friend.

Vlad shot him a look, then sighed and stood up. "Lead the way, Samantha."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You call me that again and I'll carve _you _up instead." She twisted around on her heel and stalked back into the kitchen, Vlad a few steps behind.

"You don't like me very much, do you?" Vlad asked when the kitchen door swung shut behind them.

Sam pointed towards the ham. "What gave you the first clue?" she muttered. She grabbed her own knife and walked to a chopping board, slicing through the vegetables that were lying on the counter, murmuring under her breath. Vlad barely caught a few references to himself, take over the world plans, torture, mind control, and illegal cloning experiments.

Picking up the knife and slowly slicing through the ham, Vlad decided that he needed to spend more time in the kitchen. If he ignored the ranting housewife with the eight-inch butcher knife behind his back – which he found to be rather difficult to do – it was almost peaceful.

Vlad Masters was sitting at a dining room table that was three sizes too small, scrunched between Jack and the creature fondly known as Rick. Although Vlad wouldn't have admitted to the fact that he was going out of his way to stick his elbow in his son-in-law's ribs as often as possible, Vlad got a sort of deranged enjoyment out of doing it. And it wasn't like the drab man didn't deserve it.

"Andy, stop flinging peas with your fork," Sam murmured to her son. "One of them might bounce back and poke your eye out."

Andrew pointed at Jazz's son, whom Vlad had finally determined was named 'Martin', and said, "He started it."

"I'm finishing it," the woman stated firmly. "Stop flinging the peas or you'll be eating with no fork."

The youngest of the half-ghosts had just formed his face into a frown, setting down his fork, when a mushy pea flicked through the air and stuck to his cheek. Andrew flinched and swiped at the pea, stared at it in surprise, and then looked up to see who the culprit was.

Vlad had not only seen the pea fly, he had also seen who had been wielding the instrument of its inglorious ending. He had no doubt that if Andrew had been _his _grandson, not only would the boy have not gotten hit by the pea, but would have also discovered who had flung it and already have devised some sort of pay-back plan. Instead, he was staring around the table in disbelief, never noticing the way his mother was glaring at Jack and the way that Jack was hiding his own fork under the table.

"This was delicious, Sam!" Tucker said brightly, his plate – which had once been piled high with all the different forms of meat that had been brought to the party – clean of everything but a few bones. "And nothing tried to run away or eat me."

Sam broke off her glare long enough to glance at Tucker and sigh. "I was overruled on the menu," she muttered. "I tried for veggie-friendly, but I was ambushed at the store."

"Nice." Tucker nodded at Daniel, who returned the grin. "I knew you having a kid would come in handy sooner or later."

"Yeah, Tucker, Andy's sole purpose in life is to make sure they have meat when you come to visit," Jazz drawled.

Tucker blinked at her. "Of course. Are kids supposed to have some purpose other than to serve me?" He glanced down at his little girl and poked her head. "What about you – do you have a purpose in life other than the poop and drool on my stuff?" The baby girl looked up, her face covered in mashed potatoes, and giggled when Tucker crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

Vlad looked away from the display, looking down at his plate. It was empty. If this would have been his party, a server would have already whisked the plate away, dropping some high-quality desert in its place.

Unfortunately, he was at Daniel's house – there was no such service. Dessert was coming via half-gallon tubs of frozen, mass-produced ice cream with cheap chocolate sauce… and he would no doubt have to serve himself. For a few moments he tried to weight this annoyance against some positive side of coming to this party, but then he gave up.

He'd had more than enough interaction and Fentons for one day. He was ready to go home and sit in his quiet library.

"It's got to be time for desert," one of the nameless boys sitting next to Andrew said, his whole body seeming to perk up when a few of the adults around the table nodded in agreement. It took only a few seconds for the three boys to vanish into the kitchen, Jazz's son and Valerie's daughter only a few steps behind.

Vlad tended to agree with them – he was ready for an excuse to get up from around the table as well. He pushed his chair backwards and got to his feet, grabbed his plate, and headed towards the kitchen. Perhaps he could just sneak out the back door while no one was looking – it wasn't like he needed to wait for someone to give him a ride home.

"I'll come with you, Vladdie," Jack said as he got to his feet and trailed a few steps behind.

After dumping his plate in the sink with the rest of the dishes, Vlad leaned against the table and watched the five children struggle to get the container of ice cream open. Jack settled next to him, his arms crossed, quiet for one of the first times Vlad could remember.

Andrew was two steps from simply phasing the ice cream out of the pail when Vlad narrowed his eyes and stepped up behind him. "Like this," he muttered, grabbing the lid and giving it a sharp yank. The lid came off in his hands, accompanied by five excited cheers.

"Thanks, Uncle Vlad," Andrew said, snatching the bucket away and back towards the tables set up in the other room. The other four children grabbed the stacks of bowls and spoons and the squirt-bottle full of chocolate sauce and vanished after him.

"Andy's the ringleader," Jack said once quiet had fallen again. "Reminds me a lot of Danny when he was that age."

Vlad grabbed a towel and wiped a few smears of ice cream off his hands. "He reminds me more of you than Daniel, if you ask me."

"Did you have fun tonight?"

Glancing over his shoulder at the serious look on Jack's face, Vlad snorted. "I didn't want to come."

Jack nodded, but simply gazed at him. "But did you have even the _littlest _bit of fun?"

Vlad tapped his fingers on the counter and studied Jack. "I'm not Scrooge, Jack. I'll admit that I had a little bit of fun – but even though I was visited by three ghosts on Christmas Eve, I don't need to be taught the true meaning of Christmas."

"I didn't think you did," the large man laughed. "Are you coming to the New Years Eve party?"

"No." The answer was instantaneous.

In the end, he didn't sneak out the backdoor and leave. The Fenton party eventually dissolved into a high-stakes game of charades – the losing team getting the job of washing the immense amount of dirty dishes piled in the kitchen. Sam had been chosen to be the judge, since she'd cooked everything and didn't want to risk the chance of having to clean it all up as well, and Vlad had chosen to stand in the doorway and watch the party-goers make idiots out of themselves.

…although, the image of Jack trying to pretend to be a mouse was something Vlad would never forget. It caused a small, secretive smile to drift across his face whenever the memory jumped into his mind.

Jack's team had eventually come out victorious, forcing Daniel and his cohorts to spend the next half-hour washing dishes while the rest of them lounged about and teased them. Vlad didn't do any of the teasing, but he did enjoy the sight of the annoying Rick in a pink apron, his arms covered in soap suds. It seemed like the perfect job for him.

He was actually finding himself having a lot more fun at this party than he had originally expected. People were generally leaving him alone to just sit back and watch, which was exactly what Vlad preferred. Some people stood around and talked, others started to watch some stupid show on television, and Jack set up a checkers tournament with anyone willing to play him. Vlad had only agreed to play when it became obvious that everyone else had already beaten the large man.

To be honest, he was caught by surprise when the clock finally struck ten o'clock and the party started to break up. Danielle had offered a ride back to his home, something that Vlad had refused. He could fly home well enough – and he couldn't stand to be around Rick for another few minutes. "Remember what I told you about treating your clients to a dinner," Rick said as he put his coat around Danielle's shoulders. "I worked wonders. I was employee-"

"-of the month, I know," Vlad interrupted sourly. "Leave."

The man blinked and took a small step backwards, but his everpresent smile never wavered. "I'll see you in the car, Dani."

His daughter turned to him. "Thanks for coming to the party… father."

Vlad just narrowed his eyes – hoping that his thought of '_I was dragged here against my will, no thanks are required_' was making it through without any translation.

Danielle laughed a little and leaned forwards to put a quick peck to his cheek. "And, for the ninth time, it's Richard. Stop calling him Rick."

The eldest of the half-ghosts snorted, but his daughter had already vanished through the door. He knew that the annoyance's name was really Richard, he just couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of that man being named anything as regal as 'Richard'. Rick suited the man much better. In fact, if 'Richard' ever stopped to look at his birth certificate again, he might find that his legal name had been fixed to suit his personality.

Vlad shrugged into his own coat, not bothering to button it up before he stepped out onto the front steps, the chill air slicing through his human body. A few people pushed past him – more than one carrying a sleeping child in their arms – before Vlad decided to head home. He walked down the sidewalk for a few blocks before finding a suitable place to transform into his ghost self and head for home. Perhaps tonight wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be.

Perhaps he would even classify it as fun. Perhaps he'd agree to go without nearly as much foot-dragging if he was ever invited again.

Perhaps.


End file.
